


What's to Come is Already Gone

by PythagoreanTeapot



Series: Do Not Attempt to Adjust Your Future [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, How Do I Tag, Kidnapping, SHIP DARCY LEWIS WITH ALL THE THINGS, This might be darker than I intended, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 17:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 63,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15868788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PythagoreanTeapot/pseuds/PythagoreanTeapot
Summary: Time travel is messy, confusing, and full of potential paradoxes. Oh yeah, and also assassins.Darcy knew she was signing herself up for all of those things when she volunteered to go back. But she hadn't expected friendships and laughter and love to be a part of it as well.And she couldn't have imagined just how much it would cost her along the way.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, internet. It's been a while.
> 
> So, I don't know about you, but I love time travel stories. There's just so many interesting things that can be done with time travel. It's fun. I am also a fan of SHIP DARCY LEWIS WITH ALL THE THINGS. There are some super creative people out there offering up infinite possibilities. Which, put together, means I've read most of the stories out there about Darcy time travelling. There's quite a few of them, and some of them are incredibly awesome.
> 
> But there's one version I never seemed to come across, which made me wonder: what if it wasn't an accident? What if Darcy went back to the past knowing exactly what she was doing, where she was going, and what she needed to do to get home?
> 
> And that question has turned into the biggest story that I've ever attempted to write. Seriously, it's huge. And I need to get more of it put together before I start posting it properly or I will quickly get out of control. But I want to get the idea out there. 
> 
> So here's a taster. Just the prologue. A tiny hint of where I'm going with this. 
> 
> Also, I've never had a beta reader, and I feel like that could be useful in this project. So if you'd be interested in such a thing, let me know.

Peggy nodded at the sergeant and stepped quietly through the door, closing it firmly behind her. She took a moment to examine the young woman across from her, well-trained eyes picking up the poorly done hair, the well-worn clothes, the fingers intermittently tapping and clenching, and the eyes - guarded, but with an edge of desperation and fear sneaking through.

"Miss Wells, I am Agent Carter. I'm here, as you've insisted, and the observation room has been cleared." Her voice was brusque and impatient, "To be frank, I have several more important things to be dealing with and the police are quite capable of taking your confession without assistance. I'd appreciate if you explain in the fewest possible words why I should have any interest in taking part in this investigation."

The woman paused for a moment, narrowing her eyes in an assessing manner.

"Time travel." She answered after a pause.

Peggy waited for her to continue, and then shook her head slightly, "Time… travel?" 

"Yup," Came the nonchalant reply.

"Are you going to elaborate on that at all?" Peggy asked.

"Love to," The woman grinned, "But you asked for the fewest possible words. And those two really sum up the whole thing to its simplest form. Time. Travel."

Peggy sighed and sat down across the table from the woman, tossing the clip board between them. Clearly this was not going to be as quick as she'd hoped.

"Are you saying that you believe time travel is possible? That you have access to some sort of time machine?" Peggy asked wearily. The story hadn't even been told yet and she already knew it was far-fetched.

But it wouldn't be the first or last far-fetched story that Agent Peggy Carter listened to. Sometimes they held rather important truths among the fabrications. And sometimes when a scientist told you he'd created a super-human monster with a burning red face, it turned out to be entirely true.

"I'm saying," The woman responded slowly, visibly bracing herself before pressing forward, "That me sitting here at all is absolute proof that time travel is possible. I'm saying that I have travelled through time. Or will travel through time. Both. Neither. Tenses are challenging when time is non-linear."

Peggy raised an eyebrow, unable to read the truth or lies in the woman's voice. "Do you have any evidence to support your statement?"

"Nothing I'm willing to show you now," The answer was prompt, practiced, "To be honest, time travel is a really bad idea. Messing with the past could destroy the future, which I'd like to avoid. I could tell you things that are going to happen, but then your knowing could change what happens. It's a conundrum."

"How very convenient that you can't back up this story," Peggy cut her off, stifling a sigh, "I do not have the time to play these games, Miss Wells. You have one minute to explain why this concerns me."

The woman sat forward, leaning her elbows on the table, meeting Peggy's eyes with a fierce intensity. "So, there's this question that's going to be asked by ethics students and sci-fi fans for decades to come, maybe centuries. It goes like this: if you had the ability to travel back in time, should you kill Hitler?"

"Are you saying that Adolf Hitler is going to be victorious?" Agent Carter asked, an irrational pinch in her chest at the possibility, despite how ridiculous she found the rest of the woman's story.

"No, no," She shook her head vehemently, "I come from a future where the allies win, and the Nazis fall, and war and conflict mostly decrease year by year despite the 24-hour news cycle trying to convince us otherwise. But all that took time. It took years and lives and sacrifice and despair. And in the meantime, the Nazis committed the worst genocide in all of history. Millions of non-combatants will be slaughtered. 

"But building a time machine and killing Hitler earlier might not change that. It's not like Hitler exists in a vacuum. He's got the Third Reich and the Nazi Party and Hydra backing him up. He's got allies. Hell, he was elected! So, if you kill Hitler, most likely someone else would just step up and take his place, continuing to lead Germany down the same path.

"And even if you could change the future, what would it change? The fallout from World War 2 shaped the rest of the 20th century. How much would change? Could you guarantee that it would be better? Could you be sure that it would save lives? No one knows. No one could ever know. So, it's a question that will keep getting asked because there's never going to be a solid answer."

"Are you here to find that answer, then?" Peggy asked, incredulity clear on her face.

"No, that's just to set the scene, to get you to pay attention. You said you weren't interested, but you need to be worrying about this. Because while people have been arguing about that unanswerable question for generations, there's another, much more concerning question that no one ever thought to ask."

"And what's that?"

The woman leaned forwards once more, her dark curls sweeping into her face.

"What if," She asked, a tremor of desperation breaking through her casual mask, "the people who manage to get their hands on time travel don't want to kill Hitler? What if they want to save him?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins! 
> 
> Please let me know any and all thoughts. I love feedback and welcome (constructive) criticism. But mostly if you're excited about this then you can make me excited about this and that just might get me to write faster.


	2. Counting by Meatloaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on posting this yet. I was going to take more time to write without the pressure of expectations. But... It's always good to give into impulses that contradict your carefully thought out plans, right?
> 
> For this one, I'm going to try to be the person who updates regularly, once a week. To be honest, I'm not great at doing anything on a schedule so we'll see how it goes.
> 
> Please comment! Or hit the Kudos button! Or throw some streamers! Or make a weird face at the screen! Definitely do at least one of those. I'm going to assume you did at least one of those.

They were taken on a Thursday.

Darcy had lost count of the days somewhere around 12 or 13, but she knew they were taken on a Thursday. And the next day they’d been served this disgusting greyish meatloaf which she had refused to eat.

She grimaced as she forced another mouthful of the sludgy substance. She wasn’t as picky any more.

It had taken her a while to recognise the pattern in the meals. Most of them were repeated every few days without a set pattern so she hadn’t noticed for a while that the meatloaf came reliably every 7 days.

Which meant it was Friday. Again.

She didn’t really know why she cared. There wasn’t much she could do with that information. Since she’d lost count of days before she’d started counting meatloaf she still didn’t know how many Fridays it had been. Maybe 7, she thought.

It was still nice to know, though; with everything else that they threw at her and Jane, it was comforting to know what day it was.

Darcy dropped her fork, giving up on the rest of her unpalatable meal. It wasn’t like they were going to let her starve to death anyway. And tomorrow might be mac and cheese, which was almost edible compared to the other options.

She pushed her tray away, ignoring the glare of the guard watching them. If he wanted the meatloaf to disappear he’d just have to eat it himself. Unless Jane wanted it. Jane was remarkably capable of consuming anything put in front of her.

Turning to look at her friend, Darcy caught Jane glancing at her and tried to smile in reassurance, but she winced at the motion. It didn’t help the guilt in Jane’s eyes. They’d broken Darcy’s nose, again, yesterday trying to get Jane to cooperate. Every chance she got Darcy kept telling Jane not to risk the fate of the world for her, that it wasn’t worth it, but she could see how it wore down her friend. They needed Jane sharp, so they rarely hurt her directly, but they knew watching Darcy get hurt was equally effective.

Darcy frowned. Jane was _blinking_ at her. Not a lot, and only when the guard was turned away, but that was definitely not normal blinking.

Ignoring the guard as he collected their trays and moved to take them to the cart just outside the door, Darcy tried to figure out what Jane might be trying to tell her. It wasn’t Morse code. Or, at least, it wasn’t any word made up of S or O, being the only letters she actually knew in Morse code. But how else could you communicate in blinks?

Suddenly, Jane glanced at the guard as the door swung shut behind him and then, staring pointedly at Darcy, ducked down and covered her head with her arms.

Darcy mimicked her immediately. She had no clue what Jane was planning, but that was not a message she needed to ponder. When an explosion sounded a few rooms away and the lights flickered into darkness, Darcy braced for worse to follow. But then Jane was there, grabbing her and dragging her under the nearest table.

“Jane!” Darcy shouted, hugging the woman tightly as they hadn’t been allowed to do for weeks, “What’s going on? Are we trying to escape?”

Jane shook her head frantically, peeking out at the camera they both knew was in the corner of the room.

“No, I’m sorry, Darcy,” Jane replied in a hushed whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Darcy switched immediately to comforting. This was her job here; keep Jane strong enough to stand up to these Hydra assholes. They wanted to use Darcy to bring Jane down, but Darcy wouldn’t let them do that without a fight, “You don’t need to be sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong. And this,” Darcy gestured at her bruised and broken face, “This is not on you and it’s worth it to stop them.”

“But that’s just it,” Jane whispered back, “I can’t stop them. That balding guy, Robinson, he understands my work too well. He can tell when I’m throwing them off track. He’s made the connections I’ve tried to hide. He’ll figure it out on his own eventually. I can slow them down but, Darcy, even if they kill us both, they’ll still be able to do this.”

Darcy stared at Jane for a second, processing this information.

“Shit.” She whispered.

Jane nodded frantically, glancing out again at the camera.

“Shit,” Darcy said again, closing her eyes as the implications flew through her mind; a dozen worst case scenarios which were all about as ‘worst’ as it was possible to get, “Shit.”

“Yes,” Jane grabbed Darcy’s hand and squeezed, “I agree with you completely, but we don’t really have time to freak out. It took me weeks to set this up and we probably only have a few minutes before they get through the doors and we won’t be able to talk like this again. So, I need you to say something, anything, other than ‘shit’.”

“Right,” Darcy took a shaky breath and squeezed Jane’s hand in return, then shook her head, “Fuck, Jane.”

“Not helpful, Darcy,” Jane whispered anxiously.

“I know,” Darcy’s voice shook, “But Jane… Fuck. I am not cut out to be Kyle Reese.”

“Kyle Re…?” Jane started to ask and then cut off as recognition flashed through her eyes, “No. Darcy, no! That’s not feasible. That’s not a solution.”

“It’s the only solution.” Darcy whispered back, determination starting to wash away the panic, “You’ve just said that we can’t stop Hydra from going back in time. They’ll try to change the outcome of World War II and millions of people will die. Hell, my grandma was in a concentration camp so if they succeed then she’ll die, so if we do nothing then my best case scenario is never being born at all. If we can’t stop them here, then we have to stop them there.”

“No,” Jane shook her head, “You said yourself, you are not cut out to be Kyle Reese. What if I go? What if we both go?”

Darcy shook her head, an odd calm coming over her as she stared at her friend. “Jane, you know this is the only option. They’ll never send you because they need you to make everything work. And I’ll need you to make sure I can go and come back safely. And that I’ll come back only when I’m ready, when I’ve found some kind of weapon that I can use to get us out of here. That’s your job, Jane. My job is to stop them destroying the past. And, like you said, we won’t be able to talk like this again; so we’ll just have to trust each other to do our jobs.”

“But Darcy-” Jane started, tears in her eyes, but Darcy cut her off.

“It’ll be easy to get them to take me with them. They just need to think that you’re trying to sabotage the machine to kill whoever uses it. But we’ll need some kind of signal.” She glanced around vaguely and spotted the notebook Jane always carried with her, “Your notebook. You always put your pencil inside. When you’re ready to go, put you pencil on top, perpendicular. If I need more time, then I’ll put the pencil back inside. If I’m ready too then I’ll put it… anywhere else.”

“Darcy,” Jane was staring at her with despair and love in her eyes as she spoke sadly but gently, “We aren’t meant to be the heroes.”

“Fuck that,” Darcy lifted her chin as tears welled in her own eyes and fear crept back into her voice, “I tased the god of thunder. We fought goddamn space elves. We can take down Hydra in any timeline.”

Jane pulled her into a fierce hug, sniffing into Darcy’s shoulder. They both jolted as they heard a banging, scraping sound come from the door.

“I love you, Darcy,” Jane whispered and then let her voice rise above a whisper as the door clattered open, “You’re my best friend and I just can’t watch them hurt you anymore. I’m sorry.”

Rough arms dragged them both out from under the table, something heavy colliding with the back of Darcy’s head made her vision spin and her grasp on Jane’s hands slipped.

“I love you, too, Janey,” Darcy tried to shout as they were dragged apart, “But I’m not worth the world.”

Someone’s fist sank brutally into her stomach and Darcy immediately became reacquainted with the meatloaf she’d just eaten. Her vision swam as she threw up on the shoes of the person dragging her away.

She thought she heard as she was dragged away, over the ringing in her ears and the angry shouts, Jane’s tearful reply.

“You’re worth everything.”

\--

Stop them from destroying the past.

After they’d dragged her back to her small cell, so many soundproofed walls away from wherever they locked up Jane, Darcy had given in to the hysteria that she’d bottled up during the conversation with Jane.

Just stop them from destroying the past; that was all. Oh, and also find some way to get past all of the guards and locked doors before coming back here.

Nothing to it.

A desperate laugh bubbled up from Darcy’s throat.

“Shit,” She whispered aloud to herself. She’d run into battle before, life and death situations to save puppies or the universe, but this was different. For one thing, there wouldn’t be any running. This would require walking, slowly and surely. This would require silent plotting. This would require stealth. And, the thing she really doubted she could pull off, a poker face to end all poker faces.

Darcy could barely hide her reaction to meatloaf.

And there wouldn’t be any friends beside her to handle the hard parts. No magic or science or sciencey magic or magicky science to save the day; just Darcy. Alone. With Hydra assassins.

Jane was right, Darcy choked back a sob, she wasn’t meant to be the hero. She’d said the words that Jane needed to hear in the moment, but even then she’d known it was a lie. She was meant to be the side kick. She was meant to run around at the edges, helping out as best she could but not bearing the weight of the world. She wasn’t strong enough for that. She didn’t have super strength or super brains or a super hammer or the super dark origin story required to be a hero. She was just Darcy.

Except that somehow the world was already on her shoulders, and there was no one else to take her place.

Which left her with only one option.

“Shit,” She repeated, resigned but determined.


	3. Who Said Stealth Was Hard?

Darcy started counting days again. She didn’t know how long it would take Jane to finish her part now that she was cooperating, but she knew she needed to be as ready as possible as quickly as possible. 

For all she knew, Jane could have this sorted in just a couple of weeks.

Within a day she knew she’d underestimated her friend. Clearly, Jane had been working very hard at hiding how much she’d already figured out in the previous weeks. 

The day after their under the table meeting, Jane had marched up to Robinson and announced that she would help them if they gave Darcy medical help and didn’t hurt her again. She had written one short line of gibberish formulae on the board they’d provided and then announced that she would give them the rest when she saw Darcy fixed up. Robinson had stared at the board for all of a minute, his jaw hanging open, before he’d snapped his teeth together and given the order. 

As Darcy was led from the room, she’d heard him demanding the rest from Jane, but Jane wasn’t about to give him what he wanted just because their new plan was to give him what he wanted.

When Darcy returned to the lab a few hours later, breathing much easier after her nose was straightened out and her cracked ribs bound, Jane was standing in the same place, furiously silent while Robinson growled ineffectually.

When he saw her enter, he’d gestured angrily at her and told Jane he’d met their end of the bargain so she’d better start working, or he’d change his mind.

Instead, Jane had gone directly to Darcy and made her give a full report of the care she’d received. Only when it was clear Darcy had received the best care and pain killers and nothing else did Jane turn back to their captor.

“You don’t touch her again.” Jane pointed at him fiercely, “No one does. She gets so much as a paper cut and I stop helping.”

Then she’d turned determinedly to the board and started filling it with numbers, letters and diagrams. She filled three boards in an hour and when they weren’t fast enough bringing her another, she started writing directly on the walls.

On the second day, Darcy decided she wasn’t going to have enough days to be worth counting. So she started counting the guards shift changes instead. 

\--

Out of the corner of her eye, Darcy saw the door open while she held a wire in place for Jane. She peeked surreptitiously over to see Sideburns and Ponytail exchange nods and a few words as Ponytail stepped up to relieve Sideburns. She turned her head to stealthily watch them as their attention was not entirely on their captives. She quickly dropped the wire and slid a piece of paper from her bra which she shoved into Jane’s sleeve.

Jane jumped the tiniest bit at the unexpected motion but kept her wide gaze on her work.

They could totally figure out this stealth thing, Darcy thought with a small surge of pride.

“Hey!” Ponytail was marching towards them, her eagle eyes fierce, “What was that?”

Sideburns and the other guards followed her lead quickly.

“What?” Darcy asked, her voice a squeak, “I – ah… I have no idea what–”

She cut off as Ponytail pulled her away from the workbench and shoved her into Too-Much-Bodyspray’s grasp. He held her firmly, but carefully. Their new orders were very clear about not damaging Darcy.

Jane trembled and tried to back up when Ponytail descended on her, pulling her arms out and feeling along them until she heard the distinctive crinkle of paper. She shoved her hand up Jane’s sleeve and pulled out the note.

“We didn’t… It’s not…” Jane stammered, clearly having no idea what she should say. 

Which wasn’t surprising, since she hadn’t had a chance to read the note to find out what she was meant to be hiding.

Ponytail stared at the nine words Darcy had spent a stupid amount of time thinking about.

“Take them back to their cells.” Ponytail said without inflection, “Robinson needs to see this.”

Darcy saw the fear on Jane’s face as they were dragged in opposite directions down the hallway.

“This doesn’t change anything!” Jane was shouting, struggling with her guards, “You hurt her at all and I won’t do anything more for you. Don’t touch her!”

Darcy tried to think of something she could say to comfort the astrophysicist, but before she could come up with anything that wouldn’t blow their plans she was dragged around a corner out of sight.

Oh well, Darcy thought, letting the guards manhandle her into her cell, hopefully Jane wouldn’t freak out too much before someone went to talk to her. Once they did, she’d figure out pretty quickly that this was exactly what was meant to happen.

Darcy may not have mastered stealthy yet, but not-quite-stealthy-enough was a piece of cake.

\--

Darcy didn’t know how long they left her locked in her cell. No one had bothered to bring her lunch there, and she was starting to wonder if they’d decided to skip dinner too when the door opened. 

The man who walked in was tall and wiry with cold, assessing eyes. She’d seen him around a few times. He’d come in to inspect their work with Robinson and a bunch of other suits a couple times, and she’d seen him plotting with Robinson the other day when she’d managed to overhear one of the only useful pieces of information she’d been able to collect about the mission ahead of her.

“Hey Pinstripes,” Darcy greeted him warily.

He smirked, “It’s Arthur. Arthur Carrington. I suggest you remember it.”

“No promises, dude,” Darcy shrugged, “I find guys in suits almost as generic and forgettable as guards.”

“You’ll find I’m special.” He answered, his voice sharp, “After all, I’m the one you were trying to kill.”

“What?” Darcy frowned in genuine confusion.

“It wasn’t hard to work out your plan,” Carrington slid his hands into his well-tailored pockets, “there aren’t many things you could achieve by sabotaging the machine. You could delay, certainly, if you still thought there was a chance of rescue, but I think it’s become abundantly clear that your heroes cannot find you here. But any damage to the machine could be fixed. So, the only logical plan would be to try and destroy the person using the machine, in the hopes that the goal may be deemed too dangerous and abandoned.”

Darcy kept her face frozen, studiously, _desperately_ expressionless.

“I’m afraid that won’t be happening,” Carrington continued, “I have accepted the risks involved with this mission and am well aware that there is a chance it could kill me. But the gains if we succeed would be worth any risk.”

Darcy held her breath, heart pounding as she waited to hear what she needed, but still dreaded, to hear.

Carrington smiled at her, clearly noticing her anxiety.

“Of course,” He raised a brow, “That doesn’t mean we can’t minimise the risks.”

Darcy licked her chapped lips when he didn’t continue and managed to push a single word out of her throat.

“Minimise?” The word came out shaky and fractured and Darcy could only be grateful that she was meant to be scared now, that they would expect this response.

“Yes,” He smiled knowingly down at her, “Dr Robinson is talking to your friend now. He will explain to her that it would be in her very best interests - well, more accurately, in _your_ very best interests - for the machine to work as safely as possible. Because when we activate it to go back to 1940 and kill Captain America, you will be coming with me.”

Darcy let out a sharp, shaking breath. A wave of relief and terror washed through her and her knees trembled. She let herself drop to the floor, staring blindly at a spot on the wall.

“You might need some time to process that,” In his voice she could hear pleasure, like he was enjoying her reaction to the news, “But I suggest you don’t try to sabotage anything else if you have any desire of continuing to breath yourself.”

Darcy looked back up at him and caught the fierce pleasure in his face, the leering way he stared down at her. She felt a twist of disgust curl in her stomach, but the burning desire to wipe that smug, sadistic smile off his face was stronger.

He nodded his head patronisingly and turned to go.

Darcy waited until the door had closed to allow the smirk to take over her own face. She pulled herself up onto the cot to sit more comfortably and wrapped her arms around her knees.

That asshole was going to regret underestimating her. She really hoped she would get the chance to make him understand that he’d spent all that time gloating when she’d just beaten him.


	4. It’s Just an Assassination Attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another chapter! I've also gone back and made a few very tiny edits in the previous chapters. Mostly just adding back the italics that I forgot hadn't copied automatically. I also removed one entire comma. It's a totally different reading experience now.
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos and the comments! I got somewhat stuck this week and your feedback really does help me keep going when things aren't working as well as I'd like. I think I've gotten myself back on track now, but I'll probably get bogged down again somewhere. This writing thing is hard sometimes.

Darcy spent most of the next day silently running over the things Pinstripes had said while Jane alternated between directing her around the lab and ignoring her completely. One phrase in particular kept popping back up.

_Go back to 1940 and kill Captain America._

It made sense, really. She probably should have guessed it. The war overall was a massive, messy, complicated thing that would make pinpointing moments to change challenging. But when she’d talked to everyone who would listen in the early days, trying to talk them out of it, they mostly informed her that they didn’t care about the war itself. A couple of them had straight up told her they didn’t support Nazi Germany or anti-Semitism. It was Hydra they wanted to save. She wasn’t sure what exactly they thought the difference was, but one guy had sworn that the head of Hydra would have overthrown Hitler himself as soon as it was convenient. 

And the war against Hydra was a hell of a lot simpler.

Darcy hadn’t paid all that much attention in history class, and she wasn’t sure how reliable the Captain America cartoons were as a source, but even she knew that Hydra was pretty much entirely taken down by one group, led by one guy.

And everyone knew that one guy was a scrawny asthmatic before the US Army made him almost unbeatable. 

_Go back to 1940 and kill Captain America._

She’d bet everything of value she had left - which was pretty much her _Books turn Muggles into Wizards_ socks at this point, even in their current grimy state - that Steve Rogers would still be in the incredibly-easy-to-kill stage of his life in 1940.

She also remembered what she’d overheard Pinstripes saying to Robinson before he’d introduced himself to her. She hadn’t caught much of their conversation as she was escorted back to the lab from a bathroom break, but what she’d heard had been one of the most elucidating, and concerning, things she’d managed to learn about their plan.

He’d told Robinson that he had a whole notebook full of dates and events that their history team thought could be altered. They’d agreed to start with just one for the first test, but Pinstripes had been very excited about the possibility of multiple attacks on the timeline.

_Go back to 1940 and kill Captain America._

Dammit, why couldn’t the bad guys be inept and unprepared like they so often were in the movies? Why did they have to get the evil scientist who was almost smart enough to keep up with Jane? Why’d they get stuck with the temporal assassin who did his homework and took notes? How come they had to deal with the insane, genocidal, terror organisation that understood _teamwork_ and _delegating tasks_ and _fucking trusting each other to do their jobs_?

“Talk to me about batteries,” Jane said as she directed Darcy to hold a piece of the device they were building in place.

“Batteries?” Darcy asked, jolting slightly as she tried to pull her mind back into the moment, “I might not be the right person to ask. What was it you wanted to know?”

“I don’t need expertise so much as brainstorming,” Jane sighed, “I’m just worried about relying on a battery for this. I know the plan is for you to activate the device within minutes of leaving here, but what if something goes wrong? There’re so many variables we can’t account for that I can’t just ignore the possibility that you might not be able to activate it straight away. And if you don’t activate this device then you can’t come back. I know Lithium-ion batteries last a long time these days, but even unused they don’t hold their charge forever. What if you need to recharge it?”

“I’m guessing USB chargers weren’t exactly common in the 40s,” Darcy frowned.

“Not so much,” Jane agreed, then pointed at a piece of the device, “Pull that out for me.”

Darcy tugged at the square until Jane pointed out the small catch letting her slide it out easily.

“Could we just take extra batteries?” Darcy asked as Jane soldered something in place.

“Slide that back in,” Jane directed before answering the question, “Same problem, though. What if something happens that means you can’t activate the retrieval for months? Both batteries could be equally dead by then.”

“And why can’t you just send a charger with us?” Darcy asked as she watched Jane construct the thing her life could depend on out of bits and bobs.

Jane sighed, “I’m not exactly well versed in the history of power sockets through the ages. And even though I’ve done the math a million times, I’m not 100% certain that you’ll end up where we’re aiming you, so it could be a question of power sockets throughout the world as well as the ages. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“We’re pretty solid on there being electricity fairly readily available, though, right?” Darcy asked as she followed Jane’s directions to remove the same piece again.

“Yeah,” Jane said, “It shouldn’t be too hard to find somewhere with wired electricity. I don’t think even the worst-case scenario is likely to require a kite in a thunderstorm.”

Jane gestured, and Darcy slid the piece back into place with a smooth click.

“But if we did need to use a lightning rod,” Darcy speculated, “Do you think praying to Thor would help?”

“I think,” Jane replied as she pressed a button on the device she’d built, watching a nearby computer screen for the response, “That even if Heimdall noticed you praying, he’d probably just pass you off as another random human. I don’t think he can see through time, just space, so why would he know that you’re special?”

“Bummer,” Darcy sighed, “Ok, so how hard would it be to teach us how to wire a power cord into the thing? Then we could just grab whatever cord will work and run it straight out of the wall.”

Jane frowned, blinked and then turned to stare at Darcy.

“That’s…” She shook her head, “so incredibly simple. Now you’re making me feel like I’m over thinking everything.”

“Wait, really?” Darcy asked with a grin, “Problem solved?”

“Yeah,” Jane smiled in response, “I’ll have to add some terminals before I can show you how to wire it in, and we’ll need to 3D print a casing or you’ll probably electrocute yourself when you try to use it; but yeah, problem solved.”

“See, guys!” Darcy turned suddenly to shout at the guards hovering around them, “I’m super useful and necessary!”

She thought she caught a hint of a smile on one of their faces before it was smothered. She shrugged at their general lack of reaction and turned back to Jane.

“So,” she announced, “I’ve done my work for the day. Time for a nap?”

Jane rolled her eyes and shoved a laser scanner into her hands.

“Start taking the measurements for the casing,” She ordered as she picked up her notebook and started jotting something down.

Darcy turned to the computer and pulled up the program that would take the readings from the scanner for a digital model.

When she turned back around she saw something that made her freeze.

Jane’s note book was sitting on the desk next to her while she added something to the device they’d just built.

On top of it sat her pencil.

Perpendicular.

Darcy blinked and forced herself to move forwards as normally as possible.

Problem solved, Jane had said. And apparently not just any problem. The last problem.

Darcy kept her hands steady as she started moving the scanner over the device, watching it appear on the screen beside her.

Jane was ready. 

Well, presumably she still had to do the things that she’d said aloud needed to be done, but otherwise her job was done.

It had taken all of five days.

Darcy had been counting on weeks. She’d thought there would be time to prepare herself, to gather more intel, maybe even a weapon or two. She wasn’t ready.

But would she ever be ready?

The longer they did this the higher the chance someone would work out what they were doing. Someone might catch her eavesdropping or trying to smuggle a butter knife from the food trolley or Robinson would realise Jane was stalling again and hurt Darcy some more which would make it harder for her to stop Carrington when they landed.

_Go back to 1940 and kill Captain America._

Darcy blinked at the computer screen and realised she’d scanned Jane’s fidgeting hands in along with the device.

On impulse, not letting herself think about it too much, Darcy snatched up Jane’s pencil and threw it at her.

“Hey,” She hoped her voice came off friendly and a bit impatient rather than _completely freaking terrified_ , “I can’t scan the stupid thing if you keep adding to it.”

Jane blinked at her and then pulled her hands away.

“Right,” Jane whispered as she looked down at the pencil that had dropped beside her. She took a slightly shaky breath and then slid off her stool to pick it up.

Darcy leaned forward to scan one side of the device then flipped it over to scan the other. She was already so overwhelmed with anxiety that she didn’t even blink when she felt Jane’s finger slide something small and hard into her sock. She just turned back to the computer without another word and sat down. For a moment she stared blindly at the images floating in front of her before reaching out with trembling hands to start working on the casing. No time to hesitate now.

_Go back to 1940 and save Captain America._

Fuck.


	5. Anachronisms Are Underrated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an odd thing writing and posting at the same time. I can't do the post-as-soon-as-something's-written thing for a bunch of reasons. Sometimes because there are things further down the line that could change earlier things, or because I don't always write entirely in order. Also it makes me anxious and I'm much more comfortable with a buffer of already written story.
> 
> But it means that my head's not in the same place yours is. I want to say "You guys, this thing I've just written..." but the thing I've just written is not the thing you're about to read. Which probably means I should avoid commenting on it.
> 
> There are a few spots in this chapter that I know don't read as well as they could, but if I don't post today then I probably won't have time to post this week and I'm too tired to work out how to fix them now. Imperfection makes things interesting, right?

Two days later, Darcy found herself standing in the middle of a large empty space that had been cleared in the lab.

She’d been given a full 1940s outfit, right down to the underwear, and they’d even done her hair and makeup for her. Then they’d bound her wrists with plastic cuffs she was certain would not fit in the time. They’d either decided it was worth the risk of the anachronism to keep her contained, or the security team and the history team weren’t as great at working together as she’d thought.

In her pocket was the closest thing to a weapon she’d managed to steal; a disappointingly small screwdriver. And back in her sock - her new, clean, white, boring socks – was the tiny item that Jane had slipped her.

She’d recognised it as soon as she’d had a chance to inspect it when she was shoved back in her cell. It was the squarish piece of metal and plastic that Jane had made her remove and replace a dozen times while they’d built the recall device. Darcy had to assume it was an essential part of the device, and Jane had made sure she knew exactly where it fit and how to put it in place.

So, Jane had done her job. Darcy had control over when they returned from this daytrip through time. Now it was up to Darcy to pull off her part.

A false, buzzing calm settled over her. It was a familiar feeling. A kind of quiet, slightly manic, desperation that she remembered from New Mexico and London. It was all about focus. Just do the thing in front of you. Don’t think about why or how. Just take the next step.

But the waiting made that hard, so she ran through the things she needed to remember while things were set up around her. Jane had spent the previous day showing both her and Pinstripes how to wire any power cord into the recall device.

She’d done so by unceremoniously cutting the cord off her desk lamp.

She’d also explained why it was necessary, why Jane couldn’t just reopen the portal ten minutes after they dropped them off – something about it being directional and needing more data for the opening side than the drop off point. Darcy didn’t pretend to understand the why, but she trusted Jane’s science completely, so she memorised the rules. It wasn’t hard. There was really only the one the mattered – the two-metre radius. To make sure they didn’t accidentally lose any body parts, the return wormhole would be calculated with a two-metre radius from the recall device. And everything within that radius would be carried along; even the ground.

For the outward journey they apparently had more control and could line up the bottom of the portal with the floor, but on the way back it would be up to Darcy to ensure nothing and no one was within that radius that shouldn’t be.

Oh, and don’t hold the thing above your head when you activate it, or you could cut off your own feet.

One of the history minions shuffled over to her with a disgruntled frown on his face and draped a coat over her bound wrists, hiding the plastic cuffs. When he’d wandered off again, shaking his head in what she could only imagine was disgust at the security team’s disrespect for the history they were all trying to tear apart, she used the cover to shift her hands closer to the patch pocket on the front of her skirt. It was a blessing really. Who knew how much time she’d have to react once they landed? With the coat in the way she could slip her fingers into the pocket, sliding the screwdriver discretely into her hand.

Who’d have thought she could feel grateful for being tied up by Hydra?

“You don’t know this will work,” Jane’s voice stirred Darcy from her dissociated anxiety. She looked up to see Jane staring fiercely at her before Jane turned to look Carrington squarely in the eye. “You don’t know this will work the first time. I’ve done everything I can, but science requires trial and error and it’s entirely possible that this could be the error part.”

“Are you trying to talk us out of this, Doctor?” Carrington scoffed, “Because it is well past time for that.”

“No,” Jane narrowed her eyes angrily and spoke with cold, seething fury, “I’m telling _you_ that you might well need my help after this. Which means you’ll need leverage over me, so don’t you _fucking_ hurt her while you’re gone.”

Darcy felt a surge of warm emotion roll through her, temporarily overshadowing the fear.

“I love you, Janey,” Darcy shouted on impulse, grinning, “We’ve been a pretty good team, haven’t we?”

Jane met her eyes again and choked back a sob, “Don’t stupid,” she sniffed, “We’ve been spectacular.”

“Enough,” Carrington seized Darcy’s arm to drag her to the spot on the floor marked with tape, “Activate the machine.”

Jane didn’t move in response to the order. Instead, she looked at Darcy, a question in her eyes.

Darcy nodded, steeling herself, “Let’s get this shit over with.”

Jane nodded and shuffled over to the controls. Everything had been set up ahead of time and checked multiple times already. Jane typed a few short commands into the terminal, then closed her eyes for a moment as she took a steadying breath and pressed the final button.

The room immediately filled with a rising whirring sound as the technology around them sprang to life. Darcy felt the hair on the back of her neck rise and a pressure in her ears, then a sudden percussive sound and flash of light made her flinch. The tile floor seemed to drop away for a second and she staggered as her feet hit concrete.

Darcy stared around her in shock. She’d known what was meant to happen, but a part of her hadn’t really believed it would work.

But here she was. Standing in an alley way. Nothing like where she’d been a second before.

A surge of hope whipped through her. She’d been trying to find a way out of that basement for ages, and now she was sort of, almost, free.

Carrington had recovered himself beside her and drawn his gun. She drew her focus back to him, mind buzzing.

The plan had been to land at a place and time that they somehow knew young Steve Rogers would be found, and alone. Jane had warned multiple times that they hadn’t tested the math involved so she couldn’t guarantee it, but Carrington said he had faith. He believed that a scrawny Captain America in the making was about to walk by.

And he was ready to kill him.

Darcy turned the screwdriver in her hand and lunged towards him without hesitation. She thrust the paltry weapon at the closest fleshy spot she could reach and felt it hit resistance, and then push through.

Carrington shouted and spun, and Darcy heard the gun go off so close that she felt the sound hit her.

Dropping her grip on the screwdriver still embedded in his side, Darcy grabbed Carrington’s wrist with both hands, focussing her strength on keeping the gun pointed away from her, away from anyone. He tried to twist out of her grasp, but she clung desperately, angling her body to block his attempts to reach the gun with his other hand.

She couldn’t think as they grappled for the gun, could barely process what was going on. She felt sharp pain in her scalp as his free hand yanked at her hair, an odd popping feeling in one of her fingers that barely registered. But all of her attention was on _not letting go_.

His weight was bearing down on her and she knew she was losing as his fingers edged around her throat. Then he suddenly lurched sideways and fell.

Darcy found herself staring into a pair of concerned blue eyes. The blonde man dropped the brick he was holding and reached out to her, hand freezing a short distance from her as he apparently decided it might not be wise to touch her.

“Miss,” The voice was soft, tentative, “Are you alright?”

Darcy turned to look at Carrington and found him slumped, unconscious next to her. She took a shaky gasping breath that didn’t come close to filling her lungs, but she couldn’t seem to get any more air in.

She was on the ground, gasping. She didn’t know when she’d fallen; if it’d been during the fight or after, when she’d forgotten how to breath. There were hands on her shoulders and a soothing murmur in the background; words that she knew but couldn’t parse.

She thought she saw Carrington twitch, and suddenly the world roared back into focus

“Just breathe, okay?” The owner of the voice was saying, “It’s going to be alright. He’s not going to hurt you again. Just take a breath in.”

Darcy turned her head to meet his eyes and found the compassion in them so unfamiliar after her weeks in Hydra’s care that she almost wanted to cry right there.

“You’re safe now,” He told her so earnestly that she found herself believing him, “I promise.”

Darcy took one shaky, stuttering breath all the way in, and then managed another.

“Th-thank you,” She managed to whisper, her throat raw.

“It’s okay, miss,” he smiled encouragingly at her, “It’s over now. The police are on their way, probably an ambulance. Hear those sirens? They’ll be here soon, and they’ll take him away.”

“No!” Darcy shoved away from him, fingers scrambling at the wall of the alley as she tried to pull herself together, “I can’t – No, cops. They won’t – I have to –”

She had to get away. She gave up on trying finish her sentence as her eyes dropped back to Carrington. She dropped to her knees and started digging through his pockets. It was tricky with her wrists still bound. She found a notebook and a large leather wallet before she came across the thing she needed; her way home. She shoved the device she’d built with Jane into her skirt pocket and then seized the other items she’d found too.

“I have to go.” She said clearly, turning to her rescuer with determination. “Please, _please_ , help me. I can’t be here when the police arrive and I don’t –" Her voice faltered again but she pulled herself back together, “I don’t have anywhere to go. Please.”

The man frowned at her in concern, seeming to search her face for something before replying softly.

“Okay,” He nodded slowly, “I’ll take you somewhere safe. It’s not much but it’s close and we can get you cleaned up and get rid of that… thing on your wrists.”

He bent down to retrieve the coat that she’d apparently dropped at some point and she held her arms out to let him drape it over her arms again.

“My name is Steve,” he told her with a smile, “Steve Rogers.”

Darcy swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment, not remotely surprised.

“Lead the way, Steve,” She gestured, and he did.


	6. Who Said Anything About Time Travel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments this week. I went out of town and had limited time for writing or responding to comments, but I'm home now and trying to get back into writing mode.
> 
> Those of you with a keen eye for detail may have noticed that this is now the first in a series. I've decided that for structural reasons I need to break this story into two parts and this will only be the first part. The overall plan for the story hasn't changed, just the way it will be presented. 
> 
> This first part is mostly written already and I'm hoping that soon I'll be able to say exactly how many chapters it will be. Once I've finished writing part one, there are two options. Either, I can increase the pace that I'm posting and get this one out to you faster, but then pause before posting the second part while I write enough buffer to be comfortable; or, I can stick with this steady one chapter a week pace in the hopes that when I get to the end of part one, I could just start posting part two straight away.
> 
> If you have an opinion, let me know. My feelings on the matter change day to day, so your vote could be the deciding factor.
> 
> In the meantime, here's another chapter for you!

Steve Not-Yet-a-Superhero Rogers led Darcy a few blocks from the alley she’d been in and then into an apartment building. He kept talking to her in the same studiously calm voice he’d used to talk her through her panic attack.

It was both comforting and disconcerting. His voice was soothing, and the continuous confirmation of his presence was reassuring. The simple reminder that she was no longer alone or imprisoned was an overwhelming relief.

But every few seconds her mind would point out that that was _Captain America_ telling her about the bakery they were walking past. That was _Captain America_ making a joke about bees.

Darcy kept her silence and, remarkably, her composure, as he led her through the streets and into his home.

Well, she assumed it was his home. It was definitely someone’s home and what were the chances _Captain America_ would be breaking into someone else’s home.

The minute he closed and locked the door behind her, Darcy dropped to her knees in the middle of the room. The wallet and notebook that she’d been clutching in white-knuckled fingers dropped from her grasp and she let the tears well in her eyes.

“Hey,” Steve dropped in front of her, “Are you okay? I mean, clearly you’re not okay, but how are you feeling?”

She didn’t know what to think or feel. There was just so much to process.

It had worked.

In so many ways, it had worked.

She had gone back in time.

She had saved Captain America.

She had escaped Carrington and gotten hold of the only way back to her time.

Her time, where she’d left Jane in the hands of Hydra.

Darcy pushed to her feet and started pacing.

She needed to get back to Jane. That had to be her end goal, but there was another problem now; one she hadn’t considered enough in the whirlwind lead up to her departure.

“He’s going to keep trying,” She whispered, stopping her pacing, “Oh shit, he’s going to keep trying. And he knows he can’t let me get away so… God. I should have killed him. I didn’t even think. I’ve never…” She shuddered.

The very idea of killing someone, even someone like Carrington, horrified her. Her stomach turned as her brain threw up images of her hands plunging knives or pulling triggers. Just the thought made her hands shake.

But this was about more than her own feelings here. This was about the future of the planet, and this was about Jane’s life.

If Carrington lived in this time, he would try to change it. And if he succeeded then…

She turned to look at Steve and found him watching her. She realised she had no idea how much of that she’d said out loud.

Steve stepped forward without a word and reached slowly towards her, making sure she had plenty of time to see the scissors in his hands and pull away. She turned her wrists towards him instead, giving him better access.

He seemed to sense her panic rising again and he asked quietly, "What's your name?"

"I don't think I can tell you," Darcy replied as a million different possible consequences rattled through her brain, and Steve slid the scissors into the gap between her skin and the plastic cuffs. It took two tries for the plastic to give way and he moved to the other wrist. "I can't risk changing anything. I can't risk someone finding out and looking for me before I come here. Just being here at all could have destroyed the whole timeline, could have wiped out the future I need to get back to."

Darcy closed her eyes and let her favourite word float through her head. _Shit_.

What if it was too late? What if she'd changed too much? She’d just told _Captain America_ that she was a time traveller, how much would that change things? And what about the changes Carrington made? What if Carrington gave her name to Hydra and told them to kill her as a child?

No.

She couldn’t move forward if she thought that way. Carrington might do all sorts of things, and she would just have to do whatever she could to minimise the damage. And that included not making anything worse than she had to, worse than she already had.

She wouldn't give anyone her name, and she wouldn't give anyone his either.

“I… I’m sorry,” She turned back to Steve, determined now, “I shouldn’t have pulled you into this and I definitely shouldn’t have told you all that. I should go and you – you should forget you ever met me. You can't ever tell anyone about this. It's more dangerous than you could possibly imagine. If anyone learns that time travel is possible, it could tear the world apart.”

“Okay, I won't.” Steve agreed, then asked gently as he placed the scissors and the now useless cuffs on the table next to him, and picked up a damp cloth that he'd left there, “That man, he’s going to try to kill you again?”

“He’s –” Darcy froze, staring at the man in front of her, the words rattling through her head – _he’s going to try to kill_ you _again_.

For the first time, it really hit her. She’d known all along, but it hadn’t had real meaning before. This man, standing in front of her, wiping the blood from her wrists where the cuffs had cut into her skin; this man who saved her life and brought her into his home; this man of real flesh and blood and compassion; _this_ man was in danger even now. There was an assassin out there who would do everything he could to end the life standing in front of her.

It had mattered when it was just Captain America. It had been big and important and terrifying then. But it wasn’t just an iconic superhero on the line here. It was _this_ person staring at her with a total lack of incredulity.

Which was ridiculous. What she'd just spouted out should have come across as batshit crazy. Run screaming crazy.

And he wasn’t running.

“Why are you helping me?” She asked, frowning in confusion, “Some stranger you found on the street, blathering about blatantly insane things asking you to keep secrets? Why would you agree to that? Why would you trust me?”

“I- I just do.” Steve shrugged and then seemed to think about her question, “I guess I’ve never seen anyone so sincerely scared before. You’re the one who’s sharing blatantly terrifying things with me, who followed a stranger home after being attacked in the street. Why are you trusting me?”

“Because you’re…” She stared at him in wonder and then smiled, “You saved me.”

“I got lucky,” He ducked his head at the comment, “You were doing pretty well on your own, really.”

Darcy laughed and then felt a jolt of shock at being able to laugh.

“Well, I’m no damsel in distress,” She shook her head, “But everyone needs a hero sometimes.”

“Nobody’s ever mistaken me for a hero before,” Steve’s laugh was nervous and his tone disbelieving. “Maybe that’s why I trust you.”

“Then they’re not paying attention.” She told him with utter sincerity, “You just ran towards the gunshots and brought a terrified stranger into your home. You’re clearly a hero by your very nature. Sooner or later someone’s going to notice that.”

Steve turned away slightly as his cheeks turned faintly pink. “I – ah, I just did what anyone would.”

“Steve,” Darcy shook her head in amusement at his humility, “I can assure you, that’s not the common response.”

“So, what should I call you?” Steve changed the subject awkwardly and Darcy let him, “If you can’t tell me your name?”

Darcy thought about that for a moment, “I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to get a proper pseudonym at some point, with a name and identification of some kind. I don’t suppose you have any idea how one goes about getting those sorts of things?”

“Not really my area of expertise,” Steve answered wryly.

“Me neither,” Darcy sighed, “I guess, for now, you could call me Reese. It’s apt, if obvious.”

“Obvious?” Steve asked with a frown.

“Well,” Darcy conceded as she wandered over to where she’d dropped the things she’d stolen from Carrington, “Obvious to anyone born after a certain date. So, pretty much no one right now.”

“Right,” Steve shook his head, the absurdity finally seeming to get to him, “Any chance I’ll be around long enough to find out?”

“Maybe,” Darcy answered vaguely, “But I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

She knelt down and picked up the notebook and flipped through the pages. At a glance, she saw names, dates and locations. A couple of pages had whole maps. Not a lot jumped out at her as being understandable, but she did spot Project Rebirth and Peggy Carter.

She shut the book with a snap. Clearly, this held the future. This was not the time or place to peruse it. She’d have to study it carefully later, when she was alone to see if she could work out Carr- Pinstripes plans. Might as well get used to not using his name now. She didn’t want to slip and say it out loud.

The wallet opened to reveal a significant stack of cash in varying denominations and currencies, as well as multiple kinds of identification that had clearly been set up for Pinstripes. Sadly, there were none there for her. She tried not to ponder the reasons for that.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be here,” Darcy turned back to Steve, in planning mode now, “Do you know if there’s somewhere nearby that I could rent a room or someplace to stay for a while?”

“Um, yeah,” Steve nodded, “Mrs Benthelwaite round the corner’s been trying to fill her spare room for a while. It’s probably too late to go around there tonight, but I could take you by on my way to work in the morning. You’re welcome to stay here for tonight. I know it’s not exactly appropriate, but I promise you’ll be safe. My ma is working the night shift, so she won’t be back until morning, so she doesn’t need to know that I let a time travelling dame into our place.”

“Wow,” Darcy laughed, “You are just an absurdly good person, aren’t you? Don’t you have any scepticism or sense of self-preservation?”

“Ah, no,” Steve grinned bashfully, “The latter, anyway, has been pointed out before as something I’m missing. But it’s not for lack of scepticism. I’m usually pretty aware when I’m doing something stupidly dangerous, and I just don’t get that impression from you.”

“Um, thanks,” Darcy shrugged, “I guess. I’ll take it as a compliment even though I’m pretty sure stupidly dangerous would be an apt description.”

“Well,” Steve conceded, “Your situation might be, but I don’t think you’re the source of that.”

Darcy smiled slightly at Steve – at _Captain Freaking America_ – and felt a rush of gratitude that she’d fallen into his path. She knew it wasn’t chance; it had been carefully calculated by Hydra goons; but she felt lucky. She was adrift in the wrong time with an incomprehensible task in front of her, but she wasn’t alone. Instead, she’d been carried away from the danger by someone who, impossibly, made her feel safe.

“Um, listen, Steve,” Darcy hesitated and then offered a bashful smile, “Since I’ve already slipped up and spilled the time travel beans here, would you mind if I asked you some things about this time, so I don’t stand out so much to everyone else?”

Steve nodded earnestly and moved over to the kitchen area.

“Of course,” He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit, “What do you want to know?”

Darcy sat and flipped to the blank section at the back of Pinstripe’s notebook.

“Let’s start with money.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was exactly 2000 words. How weird is that?


	7. And Don’t Kill Your Own Grandparents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: general mentions of domestic violence

Darcy spent most of the night thinking. Pondering. Obsessing. Calculating. Planning. Panicking.

She was time-machine-lagged anyway having left in the morning and arrived in the evening, but she doubted she’d have slept regardless with so much to worry about.

She’d quizzed Steve pretty extensively on basic everyday things about 1940 New York. She knew what to expect for rent and expenses – confirming that she had enough in her wallet to cover basic costs for several months if she budgeted. She’d noted down some of the names of people that she’d be expected to know, like the mayor and the governor and the president. Her notebook was now full of the different ways people travelled around the city and the country and the world.

She knew she’d given away more than she should have during the conversation. She’d tried to keep her reactions to a minimum but some of the differences were too big for her to hide her surprise.

A portion of her sleepless night had been spent worrying about that. What clues had she dropped? What might Steve Rogers do with vague knowledge of the future? In the end it was the thought that he’d be going there himself that gave her the most comfort. Maybe it wasn’t good for the timelines, but it was done. And perhaps the future would be less of a culture shock after her slip ups.

The possibility of paradoxes plagued her for a while. She’d heard something about parallel universes while Jane and Robinson were discussing whether someone could change the past and come back. She’d really tried but she had not been able to wrap her head around it. There was something about the possibility that they could create an alternate timeline and then would be brought back to the same timeline they’d come from. But Robinson had thought the future they came back to would be changed and only the people who had gone would remember the differences. And Jane had definitely said that if they changed the future enough that the time machine was never built, then there would be no one to press the button to bring them back and they’d be stuck here, or rather now, for the rest of their lives.

Hydra hadn’t seemed concerned by that option, but it just added to Darcy’s reasons not to change the future at all.

Pinstripes’ plans were next on her to-fret list. She skimmed through his notebook and tried to spot things she recognised, paying attention to the earliest dates that might be important. It was likely he’d been taken to the hospital after they’d left him in that alley. If they were really lucky, which she definitely wasn’t counting on, the gun she’d left beside him might raise some suspicions and get the police involved. Her hopes were not very high for that.

By the time she finally drifted off shortly before dawn, she had a list running on repeat through her head. Don’t tell anyone else you’re from the future. Don’t tell anyone your name. Don’t change anything. Don’t let Carrington change anything. Don’t freak out. Don’t forget Jane. Just do the best you can. Don’t tell anyone else you’re from the future.

Steve had woken an eye-blink later. Darcy was not impressed; morning was bad enough on a normal day.

Her attempts to get the carefully crafted curls back into line had failed miserably and Steve had laughed as she angrily shoved a hat over the whole lot. She wished it was a beanie. She wished she could just tie the whole lot up in a messy bun. She wished she was wearing jeans.

She wished she was home.

Darcy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn’t home. And there was only one way to get home.

She opened her eyes to find Steve’s caring, concerned gaze on her. The only way home was to save him, and he was worth saving.

-

The walk to the Benthelwaite apartment wasn’t long. Darcy memorised the turns and made note when Steve pointed out the street that he worked down. They’d been walking less than 10 minutes when Steve gestured to a building ahead as their destination.

“Wait,” Darcy stopped, nerves taking over. This would be the first real test, speaking to someone from this era without seeming out of place. Well, more like the second test after she failed the first one spectacularly. “Will she – Are we – I mean, is she really just going to let a stranger with no ID and no job and no change of clothes stay with her?”

“Oh, well, yes,” Steve turned to face her, his own nerves reflecting hers, “I, um, I meant to talk to you about that. With your…” He gestured at his own face, “Well, it’s pretty clear that you’ve been… hurt. I – I thought I’d tell her that you ran from your husband and had to leave everything behind. Mrs. Benthelwaite… well, her story is her own to tell, but she’ll take you in if we tell her that. If you’re not comfortable with- with saying you were, um… I guess we could –”

“No,” Darcy interrupted his stammering, “No, that’s brilliant, Steve. It’s logical and covers all of the major things, including my tendency towards panic attacks. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Oh, well,” Steve flushed at the praise, “It just made sense. We will need a name to introduce you as, though.”

“Right,” Darcy nodded, “I’ve thought about that. I was thinking Billie Theodore. What do you think?”

“Billie Theodore?” Steve repeated, “It sounds good. Does it mean something?”

“It’s a most excellent joke.” Darcy replied with a bright grin, “Though no one will get it for another 40 years or so.”

Steve shook his head as she laughed at herself, “I’ll take your word for it. Who knows, maybe I’ll live long enough to learn the punch line.”

Darcy’s smile faded slightly, “Let’s hope so.”

Steve turned and gestured forwards, “Shall we?”

\--

Mrs Benthelwaite was the kind of terrifying that Darcy was used to. The disapproving, narrow-minded, judgemental kind of terrifying. It was oddly comforting after so many weeks of the cold and calculating, or straight-up sadistic kinds of terrifying Hydra was full of. She’d seen that sharp-eyed glare in stern teachers and strict foster parents. Historically, she’d responded to such glares with low level rebellions; dying her hair blue or making out with a girlfriend right in the living room.

She forced down the instinct to push Mrs Benthelwaite’s boundaries. She needed the woman’s help, and she didn’t exactly have a lot of allies to choose from right now.

Steve had introduced Darcy by the name she’d given him. She’d been repeating it in her head all morning in the hopes that she’d respond when someone said it. He’d stayed as long as he could to help her explain the situation and fill in the gaps when her anxiety and uncertainty left her tongue tied, but he’d had to leave for work pretty soon. He’d been right, though; when they alluded to the domestic abuse backstory, Mrs Benthelwaite’s glare soften slightly and she grudgingly agreed to let Darcy stay.

“I’ll give you a few days trial,” She’d said brusquely as she slapped a key down on the table, “You’ll pay rent weekly, and you’ll need to get the first days to me by tonight. Do you have a job?”

“Not yet,” Darcy admitted, “But I have a bit of money that I managed to hide before I left which should see me through until I can get one.”

“Hm,” Mrs Benthelwaite managed to convey both disbelief and some kind of disappointment at the idea of anyone having money to spare, “Well, see that you get one soon. I’ll not have you lazing about here. My girls both work after school, and my son will work too once he’s older. Everyone earns their keep around here.”

“Of course,” Darcy agreed quickly, “Do you happen to know anywhere that’s hiring?”

Mrs Benthelwaite gave her a once over and scowled, “You’ll be hard pressed to find anything looking like that. If you don’t have the makeup to cover those bruises, then you’d best wait for them to heal more. Don’t you know first impressions are important, girl?”

Darcy nodded silently, certain if she opened her mouth she’d ask whether she was or wasn’t meant to get a job quickly. Better not to engage sometimes.

Mrs Benthelwaite shook her head and started moving towards the door, “The children are at school this morning, they’ll be home around 5 to start making dinner. I won’t be back until 7 and I’d prefer to be here to introduce you, so you’d best find somewhere else to be between 4.30 and 7.”

“Of course,” Darcy agreed amiably.

Mrs Benthelwaite threw one last glare her way and then sighed and left, shutting and locking the door behind her.

Darcy stood for a moment in silence, a part of her expecting the woman to come back just to glare some more. But after a minute the exhaustion came back, and with it the overwhelming thought of the task ahead of her.

Trying to stave off the anxiety that she knew she wouldn’t be rid of anytime soon, Darcy moved through the apartment, taking in the surroundings.

It was a small place, especially considering four people already lived there. There were three bedrooms, of which Darcy had the smallest. That seemed fair to her, given everyone else had to double up. Mrs Benthelwaite had explained that her son, six years old, stayed in her room, while her daughters, ten and twelve, shared the other room.

Mr Benthelwaite had passed away last year, and Mrs Benthelwaite had shifted the children around and cleared out the third bedroom to be rented out for extra money. Dinner and breakfast would be included in the price, but she’d have to take her turn cooking, cleaning, and watching the children. No men were to be invited without first meeting Mrs Benthelwaite and under no circumstances would anyone be staying over.

Darcy’s brain had partly shut down at that. She hadn’t even considered such things. She didn’t belong here. She couldn’t get entangled with people in this time. Besides, the whole world was at stake, dating was so far from her list of priorities that she hadn’t even remembered it was a thing.

Except… now the idea had been mentioned. And now her imagination was running away without her consent. What if she couldn’t stop Pinstripes quickly. What if she was here for months, even years. What if the return button didn’t work? Then she could be here for ever.

She needed to set herself rules, she decided, and goals. She needed to lay out what she knew and what she needed to learn. She needed to draw lines for what was and wasn’t acceptable. She settled down with Carrington’s notebook and started with the easy ones.

Rule 1: Don’t kill your grandparents

Rule 2: Don’t kill Jane’s grandparents

Rule 3: Try not to kill anyone’s grandparents, and since you don’t know who may or may not become grandparents, try not to kill anyone.

Rule 4: Don’t fall in love.

Rule 5: Don’t be the cliched character who puts “Don’t fall in love” on a rule list and promptly falls in love but tries to deny it.

Rule 6: If you ignore rule 4 and fall in love, break all applicable hearts quickly. You can’t stay and keeping grandparents from getting together could change the future as much as killing them. You don’t want to go Marty McFly on this timeline.

Rule 7: Don’t maim your grandparents.


	8. Is This How You Stealth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honesty time: I've been really struggling with anxiety this week and haven't written anything for days. Work is super extra stressful at the moment and I kind of feel like everything is out of control. This may or may not effect the pace I'm posting going forwards, but, for now, you can have the next chapter. At least that's something that I can accomplish today.
> 
> I don't have the capacity to read through this properly right now, so I'm just hoping I would have picked up any problems in previous checks. If you spot any mistakes or issues, let me know and I'll fix them. 
> 
> I also don't really remember what I wrote so... surprise?

Darcy flipped idly through the paper as she kept an eye on the street around her and the building across the road. She’d set herself up in a small park, sitting in the shade; just another job seeker scrolling through the classifieds. Unremarkable and unobtrusive.

She was feeling pretty impressed with herself, to be honest. She’d managed to find the building Steve should be working in and had been staking it out for most of the morning. After Mrs Benthelwaite had left for work and Darcy had run out of constructive things to add to her list she’d decided she’d best keep an eye on the future Captain America.

Pinstripes could be out there now, looking for ways to finish his mission and she had to make sure he didn’t. She couldn’t risk interacting with the people of this time too much, and she would have to avoid running into Steve Rogers again, but as long as she stayed unremarkable and unobtrusive there was no reason anyone had to know what she was doing.

“Miss Theodore!”

Darcy glanced up and froze, eyes darting for an exit.

Steve Rogers was coming right towards her.

She wondered if she could pretend she hadn’t seen him. She wondered if she could pretend he hadn’t seen her, or if she could pretend to be someone else.

“I’m glad I spotted you here,” Steve told her as he settled beside her on the bench, “I had an idea about your identification problem.”

“I, um,” Darcy hedged, shifting uncomfortably, “You really shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be anywhere near me.”

“Why not?” Steve asked, confused.

“Because it’s dangerous,” Darcy reminded him, “I’m dangerous. Remember?”

“Well, I remember someone else being dangerous near you,” Steve conceded, “But I don’t see why that would make it dangerous for me to be here.”

Darcy gaped at him for a moment, no idea how to explain.

“It just is!” She eventually exclaimed.

Steve frowned at her and shook his head, “Well, dangerous or not, I think I might actually know someone who could help with getting false papers. Someone I went to an art class with a few years ago. Her father was arrested for forging documents, so she might know someone still working in that area.”

“Steve,” Darcy glanced around nervously, any trace of stealth long gone, “I’m serious, you can’t be here. I can’t be seen with you.”

“Why not?” Steve asked again.

“Because!” Darcy fought to keep her voice down, “I just said, it’s dangerous.”

Steve gave her a serious, and seriously stubborn, look, “Miss Theodore, I’m perfectly capable of choosing for myself what dangers I’m willing to take on.”

The strength in his voice was surprising, and for an instant she could see Captain America looking back at her from Steve Rogers’ face.

“Well, I’m perfectly capable of choosing what dangers I’m not willing to take on,” Darcy shot back, mildly surprised at her own quick reaction time, “And I don’t want to have your life in my hands.”

Which was true; more than anything, she wished she didn’t have his life in her hands.

Steve raised an eyebrow at her, “Do you have any idea how to get yourself false papers?”

Darcy opened her mouth to answer back, then closed it.

“Because you’ll need papers if you stay here,” Steve pressed.

“I’ll figure something out,” Darcy finally ground out, “Without getting you mixed up in illegal shit.”

“That’s not really period appropriate language,” Steve reminded her with a smirk, “Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“Dude,” Darcy narrowed her eyes warningly, “You don’t want to challenge me to inappropriate language.”

Steve just laughed and stood, turning to wave at someone across the street who was calling his name.

“I have to get back to work now, but if you’d like me to introduce you to the person I know, I’ll be off at 5.30,” He told her, and walked away with a friendly salute.

So, clearly stealth was something she still had to work on. Also making up believable excuses and stories. And general lying.

God, she was just about the worst person for this job. She was terrible at lying, a total failure at stealth, hopeless at misdirection. Probably spies were meant to have training before they were thrown in the deep end of undercover work, but they also probably needed some kind of natural aptitude.

The real problem was that she hated it.

She’d never really seen the appeal of lying, about pretty much anything. Even as a child, when she’d done something that might get her in trouble, she’d always leaned more towards trying to argue or wheedle her way out of punishment rather than pretending she wasn’t involved.

Lies were complicated and annoying and generally unnecessary. She much preferred brutal honesty and oversharing.

And as she’d just started realising, she might be here for a while. She hadn’t planned well enough before she got here, hadn’t considered just what would happen if she let Carrington escape into this time. Now, she had to find a way to fix her mistake and capture Carrington somehow.

She had no idea where to start.

He could be anywhere.

She’d skimmed through his book that morning and hadn’t seen any other dates for the better part of a year, so he’d probably still be sticking around here trying to get at Steve again, but New York was a big place. Even if she made the unsupported assumption that he would stay in Brooklyn, that still left a huge area with a lot of people.

What if it took her months to find him?

Would she have to lie to everyone about everything that whole time? Could she manage that?

And if she could, what would that do to her?

-

Darcy frowned at her shoes, leaning against wall across the road from Steve’s work while she waited for him to come out. She still thought this was unwise. She really shouldn’t get to know people from this time, especially not someone as important as Steve Rogers. In fact, she was about 94% certain she would regret this. If only she’d been able to come up with any better option, she’d be as far away from here as possible.

But she’d drawn a blank on that.

“You’re here,” Steve’s voice drew her attention away from the shoes that had been pinching her feet for the last few hours, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

Darcy smiled weakly as she pushed away from the wall, “Well, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t come up with any other ideas for this.”

Steve offered his elbow as he turned to lead her down the street. Darcy hesitated, uncertain what the action meant in this day, whether it would be stranger to take it or to walk on her own. Deciding to err on the side of trusting Steve, she slid her hand into the space of his elbow.

“You know,” Steve began tentatively, “I, uh, I know I may not… well, I guess I don’t look like much, but I’m actually a pretty great friend to the people who give me a chance. Seems to me you could probably use a friend, Miss Theodore.”

Darcy remained silent for a moment, trying to align this nervous gentle little man with the serious, commanding presence that Captain America always exuded in every video she’d ever seen. She didn’t know what she was meant to say to him, how she was meant to talk to him like he was just another person.

Finally, she answered with the most honest response she could manage, “I don’t think I’d be a very good friend to you, though. You’ll be better off if you stay as far from me as you can.”

Steve shrugged, “Well, it’s been pointed out before that I don’t have a lot of self-preservation.”

Darcy smiled at the call back, but there was nothing happy in the expression.

“I mean it, Steve,” She looked at him seriously, “It’s not safe for me to be around you. I can’t stay here, and I can’t risk changing things or getting attached to people in this time.”

“Hey, I get it,” Steve nodded, “And I’m not trying to push for anything you’re not comfortable with here. It’s your choice. I just think… I think everybody needs at least one friend they know they can count on for anything. Maybe you won’t be here long enough to need that, and I’m sure that you could find a host of better options than me. But, well, I want you to know that you can come to me if you need a friend.”

They walked in silence for a half a block as Darcy worked to swallow the lump that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere in her throat. When she had it under control, she tried to change the subject away from herself.

“So, who’s your friend like that?”

“Bucky,” Steve answered promptly, “He’s had my back since the day I met him; never let me down. He’s also the one who most frequently comments on my lack of self-preservation.”

Darcy smiled, honestly and easily this time, “He sounds like an excellent friend.”

“The best,” Steve agreed, “If you like, I can introduce you some time, Miss Theodore, double your options for friends.”

“You keep calling me ‘Miss Theodore’,” Darcy veered the conversation away from the friendship topic, “Is that standard? Should I be calling you ‘Mr Rogers’? And this elbow thing, is this to be expected?”

“I – I mean, it’s just polite,” Steve seemed confused for a moment by the idea that these things were strange, but he gathered himself quickly, “Most people would use the honorific and the last name for a little while before inviting new people to use their first names. What do people do where you’re from?”

“Just first names mostly,” Darcy shrugged, “Might not even learn someone’s last name for a while.”

“Huh,” Steve pondered this for a moment then shook his head with a smile, “Well, you can call me Steve if you prefer. And if you don’t want me to call you ‘Miss Theodore’ anymore, then I can switch to whatever you like.”

Darcy considered, “I suspect I’m going to get a lot of ‘Miss Theodore’s at Mrs Benthelwaite’s. And I should probably get used to answering to Billie as well.”

“Billie,” Steve gave her an appraising look, “Still not going to tell me your real name?”

“No,” Darcy answered firmly, “No name, no date or place of birth, no personal details that could be used to identify me.”

“Right,” Steve responded with a hint of sadness in his voice. “Can’t risk that.”

They walked another block before Steve spoke up again.

“Seems sad, though,” He glanced at her, then looked away, “To just wipe away your whole life like that, like it doesn’t matter. Are you never going to tell anybody anything true about yourself again?”

Darcy took a deep breath, his words echoing the concerns that had rattled through her own mind so many times.

“I… I can’t –” Darcy broke off, no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked. Besides,” He gestured to the building ahead of them, “We’re here.”

He led her up the steps to an aging stone building that must have been lovely once but hadn’t been cared for in a while. She gnawed at her lip while Steve consulted the list of names by the door.

This was such a terrible idea. She needed to keep her distance from this key player in history, couldn’t risk changing anything he might choose to do. Giving him clues about the future and leading him, or technically following him, into the criminal underbelly of the city was not okay.

Darcy took half a step backwards, toying with the idea of just leaving now, without explanation.

Steve pulled the door open and looked back at her expectantly.

And really, where else would she go?

They made their way into the dim building and up the stairs to the third floor. Darcy stopped when Steve stopped, watched when he knocked, and waited while he waited.

The door cracked open and a girl peered out at them.

Darcy looked askance at Steve. Surely he wouldn’t come to a child to lead them to reliable criminals.

“Who are you?” The girl asked sharply, eyes watching carefully.

“Oh, hi,” Steve waved awkwardly, “You must be Serena. Is your sister here?”

Darcy could only hope the sister was considerably older.

“Who’s asking?” Serena asked, not moving an inch.

“Well, my name’s Steve Rogers,” Steve gestured to himself, “I went to school with Mariana for a little while.”

“Hey, Mari!” Serena shouted, still staring down Steve, “Are you here for Steve Rogers from school?”

They heard shuffling inside the apartment and a moment later the door opened further to reveal a young woman wearing rough, stained trousers; hair piled haphazardly on top of her head. Darcy found herself staring enviously at the solid work boots the woman was wearing. She wondered what she’d have to do to get away with wearing boots like that in this time.

“Steve!” She greeted him easily, “Come on in. What brings you here?”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked back into the apartment, waving for them to follow her. She led them into a small kitchen overflowing with pages and fabrics and tools. An old woman was sitting sewing at one end of the cramped table, but there seemed to be all manner of non-sewing related paraphernalia around her.

“Abuela,” Mariana patted the old woman’s shoulder as she passed her, “This is Steve Rogers. I told you how he helped me, remember?”

Mariana’s grandmother nodded at Steve and mumbled something that Darcy didn’t catch.

“Oh, it was nothing,” Steve insisted flustered, and Darcy wondered what he’d saved Mariana from.

“Not to us,” Mariana told him, “What brings you here now? Haven’t seen you since those art classes.”

“Honestly,” Steve sighed, “I have something awkward and kind of insensitive to ask you.”

Mariana and her grandmother both turned to look at Steve, assessing him.

“Well, at least you’re honest about it,” Mariana nodded for him to continue, “Let’s get it over with.”

“This is my friend Billie,” Steve turned to introduce Darcy, “And she needs identification papers. I know it’s probably a sore subject for you, but I thought you might know the name of someone who could help.”

The pair of assessing glares turned to Darcy, and she felt herself tensing under their watch.

Mariana flicked her eyes back to Steve for a moment and asked, “You vouch for her?”

“Yes,” Steve nodded promptly.

Darcy stared at him, disbelieving. What had she done, really, to earn that trust from him?

Mariana stepped closer to her, looking her up and down, and Darcy turned to meet her gaze.

“It’s no small thing,” Mariana told her, “Being vouched for by Steve Rogers. He has pretty high standards.”

“Oh, I know,” Darcy spoke for the first time. And, oh boy, did she know. “I was thinking about getting a certificate – Steve Rogers verified.”

“I could make you one.” Mariana grinned at her, hackles lowering, “Along with whatever identification you’re after.”

\--

Mariana had talked her through an extensive list of questions about the kind of papers she needed, the kind of person she needed to appear to be, and the kind of price she was willing to pay. Once it had all been agreed, she was instructed to come back in three days, and she and Steve were sent on their way.

The walk home was quieter, peaceful. Darcy walked with both hands in her pockets this time after Steve explained that it was polite for a man to offer an elbow, but not required for her to accept it.

He hadn’t pushed for any more information or made any more offers of friendship since they’d arrived at Mariana’s. But his silent presence was comforting to her. An anchor in this world that she didn’t understand and wasn’t sure how to escape.

“Jane,” Darcy spoke on instinct, refusing to consider the pros and cons, or the possible repercussions, “My best friend is Jane, and I’d follow her to the end of the universe. And she’s counting on me now, so I can’t let her down.”

Steve watched her from the corner of his gaze without speaking, an expression she couldn’t read on his face.

“What?” Darcy threw out irritably, “I thought you wanted honesty.”

“No,” Steve smiled sadly at her, “I’m honoured you trust me with that. I was just thinking: That doesn’t do much to support your argument that I should keep my distance. It sounds like you’re an excellent friend too.”


	9. How to be a Professional Time Traveller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It's a second chapter in the same week. Why? Because I felt like it and I have poor impulse control. Don't count on this becoming a regular thing. I still need to have a solid buffer between what I'm writing and what I'm posting for my own sanity, so I need to pace myself overall. But I have written ahead a substantial amount, so I can afford to let you have one extra chapter ahead of schedule.

When they reached Steve’s apartment building Darcy insisted that he leave her to walk herself the rest of the way home. It took some convincing as he found it difficult to put aside chivalry even when she was asking him to.

She’d had to explain that it wasn’t that late, that she was well practiced at walking herself places alone, had in fact been doing it for years, and that Mrs Benthelwaite would be waiting for her to get back and she didn’t want to have the woman jumping to conclusions. Eventually he’d agreed, and she’d watched him safely into the building before turning and heading back to the Benthelwaite apartment.

The rest of the evening passed quickly, filled with the children and their various reactions to her.

Isabelle, the eldest at 12, was disgruntled at Darcy’s arrival. As the evening passed, Darcy picked up on the dropped hints that Isabelle had hoped if the room was left empty long enough then her mother would give up and let the girl have the spare room to herself.

The other daughter, Nina, was bubbling over with excitement at having a grownup lady with such fancy clothes staying with them. Darcy decided not to admit to the child that she was currently wearing everything she owned. She would have to go about procuring some other things tomorrow.

She fielded adorably innocent but incredibly awkward questions from the youngest, Curtis. How had she hurt her face? Where had she come from and why had she left? How long would she be staying?

The six-year old’s interrogation was far more exhaustive and detailed than the things Hydra had bothered to ask her.

By the time the children had been sent off to bed, Darcy herself was exhausted. She helped tidy the kitchen, but as soon as she thought it polite she excused herself to sleep, claiming an exhausting trip to New York; which wasn’t exactly a lie.

Darcy thought she’d have trouble sleeping again that night, with so many things to worry about still, but fatigue dragged her immediately into fitful dreams of vague anxieties.

By the time Darcy got up in the morning, the apartment was deserted, a note addressed to her sitting on the table.

_Dear Miss Theodore,_

_Out of consideration for the difficult journey you’ve recently taken, I will allow you this one morning to rest. Do not become accustomed to such frivolity. I expect you to be out of bed before 7:00am every morning, and you must search for work every day until you find employment._

_It is best for you to find a place here as quickly as possible, and this can only be achieved through hard work._

_Sincerely,_

_Sylvia Benthelwaite_

“How considerate.” Darcy murmured as she tossed the note toward the bin, enjoying the tiny spike of rebellion she felt when the paper missed entirely. She walked past the discarded paper sitting on the floor without picking it up. She knew she would pick it up before Mrs Benthelwaite saw it, but leaving it there gave her a fleeting sense of defiance.

Darcy took her time getting dressed and trying to get her hair under control. It looked fine for her usual standards, but it was very clear that standards were different here, or rather now. She spent almost an hour trying to replicate something vaguely similar to the hairstyle she’d been given by Hydra’s history team. Frustrated, she once again pulled on the hat Hydra had given her to mask the mess she’d created.

She supposed she should just be glad the evil history team had given her a hat at all.

Hoping she looked more or less presentable, Darcy stepped out into the morning. The streets were full of people moving about their days, and Darcy let herself join the flow of foot traffic, not entirely sure where she should be going.

She needed things. Things like pyjamas and a toothbrush, like makeup and, apparently, hairspray. Probably a generic magazine with tips on hair and fashion would be useful, too. She’d never gone in for those much at home, but they seemed like an essential source of information now.

She wandered seemingly aimlessly through Brooklyn, but her eyes darted all over the place, carefully cataloguing details. There was a chemist, there a second-hand shop. That alley would lead through to the street she’d been on before. This subway entrance would be an easy place to lose a tail.

As she mapped out the neighbourhood in her mind, she kept a wary eye out for Carrington. He would be here somewhere. She had to prepare for that, look for ways to keep him at bay, ways to stop him for good. It probably wouldn’t take that long for him to find where Steve lived, it might even be in his records already. He’d probably be able to find her too. And when he did, she would have to be ready, or someone would die.

She was probably going to die.

Darcy pushed the thought from her mind. Today she was going to focus on what she could do. She’d spent so much of yesterday fretting and panicking and worrying about things she couldn’t really control. Today, she needed action. Today, she would pretend that she knew what she was doing.

Most of the morning was spent weaving through streets and shops. She tried to practice surreptitiously looking for people following her; taking illogical twisting paths back to where she had been to be sure no one took the same route.

By noon, she was exhausted. Her feet ached in the shoes that she hadn’t really broken in yet and the hot sun was sweltering. She wondered what the sunblock situation was like now.

On the plus side, she was really incredibly certain that no one was currently following her.

She stopped at a newsstand and picked out a few magazines that looked useful, and then she ducked into a cool café to sit and read them.

An hour later, Darcy’s head swam with advertisements and strange beauty advice. She wished she had the highlighters and sticky notes she’d used to study at university. It felt like she was cramming for an exam now.

It was all just so… complicated. Logically, Darcy knew that there were people in her day who put this much effort into their hair and make up and outfits. There were people on Instagram who made a living out of it.

But she’d never been one of those people. She liked a good lipstick, attempted eyeliner periodically, and knew how to give her hair the perfect casually tousled look that worked with pretty much any style. Beyond that, she didn’t really have the patience.

Setting aside the magazines, Darcy switched to people watching. It would probably be a better guide anyway, she reasoned. It wasn’t like the magazines in her time were very accurate reflections of the average person. And average was exactly what she needed to be.  

The rest of the day passed in a blur of crowds and errands. By 4 o’clock she was headed home with bags of the basic necessities she’d decided on. She didn’t want to throw too much money around and risk drawing attention, so she tried to balance what she needed now and what she could manage without for a few days.

After dumping her purchases and taking a moment to smear some makeup over her bruised face and clip her hair up in a style that she’d spotted other low-effort ladies sporting, Darcy headed back out again. Steve would be finishing work soon, and she intended to watch from the park across the street and then practice her stealth again to see that he made it home in one piece.

Keeping him safe while keeping a professional time-travelling spy’s distance was going to be a challenge. But she could do it. She would do it. Today, she would believe that she could do all of it.

Besides, it wasn’t like it was the worst challenge she had to deal with here. More than anything, she just wished she could change her stupid shoes. But she really didn’t think extra shoes was a luxury that would go unnoticed in this place.

-

Two blocks from Steve’s work, she spotted him.

Her heart skipped a beat and then sped up frantically, but Darcy fought to keep her stride even and unremarkable.

Tipping her head down, she peered out from under her hat brim to watch the figure sitting on a bench across the street.

Carrington.

He was staring at the corner she was walking towards; the corner that she knew Steve would be coming around shortly on his way home. And the way he was holding that newspaper…

Maybe she was imagining it, maybe it was nothing; but there was space underneath. Space for a gun.

Darcy continued at a carefully calculated pace, doing her best to blend in with the crowd. She pulled her hat down to an angle that would hide her face without obstructing her view, but she knew he would probably recognise the hat itself as easily as he recognised her. She knew she would have to get very lucky to get past him at all.

She was 30 metres from the corner now, if she could make it there then she could break into a run and hope to get to Steve before he could. But there was no way he wouldn’t see her.

But he hadn’t seen her yet. His gaze was locked, unmoving, on the corner of the street she was moving towards. The trained spy was so intent on his target, he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings.

20 metres.

Her heart was pounding in her ears and she could feel her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. A man walking past her in the opposite direction shot a concerned glance her way as he moved past, and for a moment she was sure Pinstripes would be able to hear her breathing from across the street.

10 metres.

She saw the second he recognised her. She was watching from the corner of her eye as she moved past his seat, between him and the corner now, and she saw him stiffen and sit up straight.

She didn’t wait for his reaction. She ran.

She was skidding around the corner and out of his sight in a heartbeat, dodging between pedestrians while fighting the urge to look back. If he had a gun, then there was nothing she could do to stop him shooting her. If he was chasing her then looking back wouldn’t help her stay ahead.

She ducked through an alley that she’d noted earlier that day, trusting that her sense of direction was right and it would provide a shortcut to Steve’s work. She ricocheted off a wall as she ducked around a sharp corner and jumped over a pile of boxes strewn in the alley.

When she burst out of the alley into a main street again it took her only a second to get her bearings. Across from her was the park she’d sat in yesterday, which meant she needed to turn left.

Darcy flew down the street, leg muscles she hadn’t used since the last apocalypse springing into action. She was sure she’d burst a blister on one of her toes, but she couldn’t stop to ease the pain now. Instead, she continued to dodge between pedestrians, desperately scanning for the face she needed.

“Steve!” Darcy shouted as soon as she spotted him stepping out of the building he worked in. She dashed up to him and grabbed his arm unceremoniously, dragging him in the opposite direction of home as she glanced briefly back to see if Carrington had caught up with her.

“Billie!” Steve followed her in confusion, “What’s wrong?”

Darcy led him at a run through a few random turns, trying to keep an eye in every direction at once while getting a fair distance from the places anyone would be expecting to find them. Finally, with no sign of Carrington on the street behind them, Darcy pulled Steve quickly into a nearby bookstore, ducking between shelves so they were out of sight of the front windows.

She turned to face Steve, finding him staring at her in concern, his lungs struggling to keep up after the sudden and unexpected sprint.

“Sorry,” She said abruptly, realising she had no cover story prepared for this. She couldn’t tell him the truth, but she needed to keep him from heading straight home along the path Carrington was sure to be watching. “I just, um, I need your help with… something”

“Of course,” Steve wheezed slightly as he asked again, “What’s wrong?”

“Not wrong. It’s just, um,” Darcy tried to reassure him while her mind rushed ahead into possible lies faster than she’d ever thought before, landing on something ridiculous but hopefully plausible. “It’s embarrassing. And I can’t risk someone overhearing and wondering why I have to ask something like this.”

“Oh, well, however I can help,” A light blush rose on Steve’s cheeks and Darcy couldn’t stop a slight grin from sliding onto her face. Captain America was getting embarrassed at the mere mention of something embarrassing. He didn’t even know what she was going to ask him yet.

She was going to make him blush so much worse.

“This is might be awkward,” she admitted, “But also these things shouldn’t be awkward or taboo, and in my own life I’d talk to anybody and everybody about this stuff. Something tells me it’s probably not exactly suitable public conversation in this time though.”

The blush was deepening as she drew out the tension. And it was adorable.

Darcy took a quick breath, glancing quickly around the end of the book shelves to make sure no one was in hearing distance, taking a moment to glance out the window and make sure there was no sign of Carrington either.

It would be better to get it over with she decided as she turned back to Steve and blurted out the truthful lie that she’d come up with.

“I need to ask you about menstruation.”

Steve became briefly fluorescent, visibly struggling to bring his blush under control as he stammered out a response.

“I – That’s – I’m not, um, you know, exactly, familiar with that experience.”

“Obviously,” Darcy laughed at his discomfort, “And fortunately I do have a very helpful anachronism with me that the history team overlooked, so it’s not like I need help with the actual management of it. But I have no idea what people use these days. And I can’t just go into a shop and ask for help with that; it would definitely raise the wrong kind of attention for someone my age to be asking about things she should have learnt a decade earlier. And, sadly, there’s no google to answer all my questions.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve seemed genuinely remorseful at his inability to help, “I don’t really know enough to help you, I haven’t had much reason to learn those things.”

“Exactly,” Darcy pointed at him in agreement, “And no one would expect you to know. Which means _you_ could go into a shop and ask, and I could just happen to be in the same shop and hear all the answers.”

“You – you want me to go ask someone in a shop about… that stuff?” Steve blushed again at the idea.

“Oh, Steve, we are going to have to work on that blush of yours. Do you need me to tell a dirty joke every day until you’re immune to such things?” Darcy shook her head at him with a grin, and then continued, “But seriously, just go in, as terrified and embarrassed as you’re feeling, tell them that a young cousin is visiting and she started bleeding while she’s staying with you. You weren’t expecting it, never occurred to you that you might need to know about it, have no idea what she needs. If they ask, she’s refusing to leave the bathroom, so you have to do this without her. Easy.”

“Right,” Steve agreed unconvincingly, “Easy.”

“Don’t worry,” Darcy took his arm to pull him around the other side of the aisle where she could see outside while they made their way towards the door. “Your blush will help you sell the story.”

There was still no sign of Carrington outside the windows, and Darcy could only hope that she’d lost him for now. They couldn’t stay here forever, so she thought it was probably a carefully calculated risk to leave now.

Just, you know, not calculated with a whole lot of actual numbers involved.

Darcy checked every direction as they stepped out into the street again, even scanning the rooftops for shadowy figures against the skyline. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so, placing herself on the outside between Captain America and the dangerous world that was trying to kill him, she took his arm and led him down the road.

“You know there’s a chemist on the way home,” Steve pointed behind them in the opposite direction to the way she led.

“Do you really want to do this in your neighbourhood shop?” Darcy asked, “Where they might well know about your lack of young female cousins staying with you? Where the person might recognise you, might chat with your mother?”

Steve paused for a half a moment before answering firmly, “No.”


	10. Professionalism is Overrated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And back to our semi-regularly scheduled middle-of-the-week post.
> 
> Today has been full of talk about the US elections. Most of which I find confusing and/or depressing since I'm not from the USA. Though, I suspect people in the US also find it confusing and depressing. Seriously, Americans, you do know that blatant voter suppression and gerrymandering and counting some votes for more than others is not how democracy is meant to work, right? I'm worried you've been stuck with that broken system for so long that you think it's normal. But, like, the politicians are at least meant to _pretend_ they're not cheating. That's just polite.
> 
> Anyway, if you voted in the US, here's a chapter as congratulations/consolation as applicable in your area. If you're from anywhere else, here's a chapter as distraction from events that we have no control over but can't escape hearing about.

The plan went exactly as she’d described it to Steve. She’d entered the shop first, lingering by a display of moisturisers, and had listened in as the incredibly understanding lady behind the counter had provided Steve with a very detailed overview of the current options available. And how each needed to be used. And what signs to look out for to prepare for next time. And how she, too, had gotten her first period away from home while on a school trip.

When she had all the information she needed, and the expression on Steve’s face was about to make her burst out laughing, Darcy dropped her browsing charade and headed outside.

She found a wall to lean against where Steve would spot her when he came out, and she could watch the whole street while she waited.

She felt oddly happy.

Rationally, she knew that things were not looking great for her. Carrington was out there, plotting ways to prevent the creation of Captain America. She’d managed to thwart this plan by dragging Steve away from his expected path, but that wasn’t a long-term fix. She couldn’t make him change his job or his life, who knew what effect that might have on the choices he’d make or the places he’d end up.

Carrington would keep coming, and she had no idea how to keep ahead of him. She should be feeling terrified and overwhelmed.

But she could feel the smile that had crept onto her face without her notice.

She’d spent her day out in the world, talking to strangers and walking wherever she wanted. There had been tea and cake, sun and air. Even her aching feet gave her a weird satisfaction. After uncounted weeks locked underground, being led between a small cell and a cramped lab, this was freedom. She had a choice here. It wasn’t a great choice - risk her life or let the world fall apart, learn to fight or abandon Jane to her fate - but it was hers. And so was everything that came with it.

And this diverting mission with Steve had been… fun.

There was no other word for it, really. She’d been on edge through most of the walk, but she’d laughed as she and Steve had made up the backstory for his tale. They’d come up with increasingly elaborate characters and events that would lead to him walking into a shop and asking about sanitary pads.

And when he’d entered the store after her, he’d taken it so seriously. He’d blushed and stammered at first, but as the interaction had continued, he’d gotten so engaged. He’d asked questions she never would have considered and had even pulled out a notebook at one point to jot some details down.

She didn’t know what she was going to do with Steve Rogers. He was funny, and compassionate, and smart, and genuine. She wanted to get to know him better, she wanted to hear his stories and go on unremarkable adventures like this had been.

It wasn’t smart, she knew. Her plan had been to keep her distance, not to get entangled. It was the logical choice, the safe choice.

Except for the part where she couldn’t protect him from a distance. The instant she’d seen Carrington on the street she’d known she had to get to Steve, and she couldn’t count on being lucky enough to stumble upon the ambush attempts again.

There was only one way to ensure she was in the right place to protect Steve when needed. She would have to be near him. As much as possible.

A part of her still knew that putting herself into his life could be dangerous. It would be a hard line to walk, trying to be his friend, someone he’d want to keep around, while keeping secrets and getting ready to leave at a moment’s notice. But at the same time, she’d been isolated by Hydra for weeks, and she didn’t want to isolate herself now that she had a choice and an amazing potential friend right in front of her.

She grinned instinctively when Steve exited the shop and made his way towards her.

Fuck it.

He’d said he could be her friend. And she could use a friend in this time. And even if it was a friendship built on lies and secrets, she’d be the best friend she could be to him, too.

After all, what said friendship more than protecting someone from time-travel assassins?

“Thank you, Steve,” She said earnestly when he stepped up beside her and offered the bag of whatever he’d been convinced to buy.

“It was no problem,” Steve answered as she took the bag from him.

Darcy rolled her eyes at him, “It was definitely a problem. I forced you way out of your comfort zone. Just admit that you’ve done me an enormous favour and I might never be able to repay you.”

Steve caught her eye, picked up on her good mood, and smiled shyly.

“Well,” He shrugged and offered his elbow as they turned to head slowly home, “I wouldn’t say _never_. It may have been well out of my comfort zone, but it was also really interesting. There is a lot involved in that whole… area that I’ve never even thought about.”

“See,” Darcy agreed, “Simple facts of life shouldn’t awkward or taboo. Literally half the population deals with this shit. It’s basic everyday stuff that everyone should have a baseline understanding of.”

“I might have gotten slightly more than the baseline introduction,” Steve pointed out.

“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy knowing more about stuff than most people do,” Darcy laughed, “I saw you taking notes.”

“You never know what could be useful information,” Steve defended, “Someday I might need to know those details.”

“Sounds to me like I did you the favour, giving you the opportunity to broaden your horizons and learn about topics previously outside your purview.” Darcy raised her chin to look over at him with pretend arrogance, “And how exactly are you going to repay me for such a generous action?”

Steve burst out laughing and Darcy pretended not to notice the way her heart warmed at the sound.

“I’ll have to get back to you on that one,” Steve replied, “It’ll take some time to find something equally valuable.”

“Steve!”

The voice from behind them made Darcy’s blood freeze and she spun frantically, almost overbalancing as she searched for Carrington. But instead there was a stranger walking towards them, eyeing her up and down as he approached.

Steve reached out a hand to steady her, then turned to face the newcomer.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve’s voice had switched into that calming tone he had, and Darcy knew he’d noticed her overreaction, and had probably spoken the familiar name on purpose so she would know the man in front of them wasn’t a threat.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked, his eyebrow asking Steve a completely different question as he glanced at Darcy, “Aren’t we meant to be having dinner with your Ma tonight? I thought you’d be home already.”

“You had plans?” Darcy asked Steve, surprised, “You should have told me you had somewhere else you had to be.”

Though, she was glad he hadn’t. She had no idea what she’d have done if he did tell her, but she still would have needed to find a way to stop him heading straight home by the most direct path.

“It’s fine, dinner will just be a little later than usual,” Steve assured her, then turned back to his friend, “Bucky, this is Billie Theodore. She’s new to town and needed help with something over this side of town.”

“And if someone needs help then Steve Rogers will be there.” Bucky gave Steve a friendly eye-roll. He turned the full force of his grin on Darcy and took her hand to place a smooth kiss on her knuckles, “The name’s Bucky Barnes, sweetheart, and you’re far too beautiful to be wasting your time with this punk.”

Darcy withdrew her hand with a derisive snort, “Save the charm, doll-face. It’s not going to happen.”

Bucky rocked back on his heels as his gaze turned more assessing, but his grin remained on its highest charm setting, “Well, I like a challenge.”

“Really?” Darcy’s gaze turned cool, her jaw tightening, “Because I like a person who respects my decisions and doesn’t keep pushing when I’ve already said no.”

Bucky’s grin dropped and he frowned in confusion for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak but then seemed to think better of it and closed it again.

Steve laughed loudly, “Wow, Buck, I don’t think a dame’s rendered you speechless that quickly since Suzie Martin sucker punched you in 6th grade.”

He turned to Darcy with a bright grin and laughed again, “Let’s call it even on that favour. Seeing that expression on his face is repayment enough.”

Bucky took the ribbing with a good-natured shrug and turned a more sheepish grin towards Darcy this time.

“I honestly don’t know what I could say now that wouldn’t make things worse, which I’d rather avoid.” He admitted.

Darcy relaxed at his apologetic tone, “It’s okay. I just don’t want you getting the wrong ideas about things.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky agreed amiably, “You know, you should come to dinner at Steve’s tonight. His Ma knows everybody around here, so she’s a great ally for anyone new in town to have, and we’re pretty good company if I do say so myself.”

“Bucky,” Steve stepped in quickly, toning admonishing, “You can’t just invite her to dinner like that.”

“Why not?” Bucky asked, “That roast your Ma was given is enough for one more. And I promise no flirting.” He drew a cross over his heart with a solemn expression as he spoke.

“You flirt with everyone,” Steve reminded Bucky, “You couldn’t keep that promise if your life depended on it.”

“Hey,” Bucky put a hand to his chest as if the suggestion was a stinging insult, “I bet I could go… at least 20 minutes without flirting.”

“More like 20 seconds,” Steve countered, then shook his head, “But that’s not the point. She doesn’t want to -”

“Actually,” Darcy interjected, then hesitated. She thought she’d made her choice to get closer to Steve Rogers, but this was really the deciding moment. “I think I’d like to come along. If that’s okay?”

She directed the question at Steve, tentatively. The last thing she wanted was to make him uncomfortable with her forcing her way into his life.

“I – Yeah,” Steve looked at her with surprise, and she thought she saw a hint of a blush rise to his cheeks, “I mean, of course, you’re welcome to come. If you want to.”

He was giving her one more out, in case she wanted to stick by her previous decision not to make friends here.

Darcy smiled at his consideration, “I do want to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, it's Bucky! You didn't think we'd get far without running into Bucky, did you?


	11. I Came for the Food, Not the Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of domestic violence

They walked back to Steve’s apartment together. Steve helped Darcy evade some of Bucky’s more challenging questions, turning the conversation to more welcome topics. They talked about favourite books, the café that had just closed down around the corner, whether someone named Oliver would ever work up the nerve to ask out Bucky’s younger sister.

It was all so blissfully mundane.

Darcy felt simultaneously annoyed and relieved. She wanted to shake them and tell them that there was a war going on; that there was an assassin in this city who could be waiting around any corner, that some people had been kidnapped and beaten and forced to build time machines for the enemy while they argued about hobbits.

Well, not really _while_ they argued. Technically several decades away from this conversation. But the other points still stood.

And yet, at the same time, she wanted to just listen and join in. She wanted to talk about her favourite stories and places and people. She wanted to hold onto this moment when two of the three people involved were still blissfully unaware of what Hydra was capable of.

She wanted to let them have this forever.

When they arrived at their destination, Sarah Rogers took the appearance of an extra stranger in stride, welcoming Darcy into her home without hesitation. She explained that a patient had gifted her a pork roast after he’d recovered from an unpleasant bout of sickness. Technically, they weren’t meant to take gifts from patients, but a whole pork roast was not something she could turn away at a time like this.

They laughed through dinner, Bucky and Steve keeping up a steady flow of humorous stories until they were all so full of good food and company that a peaceful, happy quiet fell over the table.

“So, Billie,” Mrs Rogers turned to Darcy, “How did you meet the boys?”

“Oh, well,” Darcy shot Steve a small smile, “Steve happened to be passing by when I was having a bit of a problem and he came to my rescue. We just ran into Bucky on the way here.”

“And how do you like staying with Mrs Benthelwaite?” She asked, “Did you know her before coming here, or did you see an advertisement for the room?”

“I haven’t really been there long enough to say for certain how I like the place.” Darcy answered diplomatically, “I’m very grateful to Mrs Benthelwaite for letting a stranger like me stay. I only met her yesterday when I arrived, but I was told that she might help me.”

“Of course she let you stay,” Bucky agreed, “She’s been trying to rent that room for months. She can’t be too picky about who she lets in now.”

“Thank you for that ringing endorsement,” Darcy joked. She moved to start gathering the empty dishes.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, dear,” Mrs Rogers moved to stop her, “You’re our guest tonight.”

Darcy shifted the plates out of Mrs Rogers’s reach and waved her to sit down.

“I’m happy to help,” She assured the older woman, “You’ve all been so generous to me tonight and I’m the only one who didn’t work a whole shift today. Besides, my Grandma would have my hide if she thought I even considered not helping out.”

“Where is your family?” Bucky asked as he, too, stood to help carry dishes to the sink.

“My parents died when I was a kid,” Darcy answered truthfully, “I was mostly raised by my Grandma, but she passed away a long time ago.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Mrs Rogers told her, and Steve and Bucky echoed the sentiment.

“Thanks, but it’s okay.” Darcy shrugged, “I mean, it’s never okay, obviously, but it was a long time ago. And it was how it should be, you know? She lived a really full, excellent life. She loved so completely. She got sick and fought as long as she could, but, when it became clear it wasn’t a fight she could win, we got to have some time to come to terms with that before she passed. Time to say goodbye. Losing someone you love is never okay, but that was the best way she could have gone.”

It was probably for the best, Darcy thought, that her Grandma had never told her which concentration camp she’d been consigned to as a child. Because if Darcy had that information, she might leave right now for just a chance to see her grandmother one more time. Even knowing that she wouldn’t be her grandmother yet.

There must have been something in the way she fell silent, because no one pressed her for any more details.

“Why don’t you boys go check on Mr Huang, upstairs?” Mrs Rogers suggested once all the dishes had been carried to the sink, “I haven’t heard him moving around up there this evening and you know his heart isn’t so strong anymore. Billie and I can handle the dishes.”

Bucky started to object, but Steve seemed to catch something in his mother’s gaze that had him dragging Bucky out the door.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Mrs Rogers put down the dish she’d been scrubbing and turned to face Darcy.

“I ain’t gonna ask what your story is,” she began quietly, “I’m just going to ask if the man who did that to you is likely to hurt you again.”

Darcy clutched the tea towel she was holding to her chest, unprepared for the question.

Mrs Rogers watched her reaction and nodded in understanding.

“I’ve worked in a lot of hospitals. I’ve seen all the attempts to hide it, and from people far more practiced than you at makeup. I know it can feel impossible to escape for a thousand different reasons, but it’s not impossible and there are people who can help. So tell me, honestly, do you think the man who hurt you will do it again?”

Darcy blinked back tears and cleared her throat, but her voice was still choked when she answered.

“I did escape,” she whispered, “I’m here because I escaped. And you’re right, it felt impossible at times. But I made it this far and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure I never end up back in that position again.”

She looked down at her hands and then raised her head to meet the infinitely understanding gaze of Sarah Rogers. A gaze that told her exactly where Steve got his kindness and compassion from.

“But to answer your actual question, I don’t know,” She admitted, “I hope not, obviously, but he’s still out there and I know he wants to hurt me, and there’s only so much I can do to stop him if he finds me.

“And it terrifies me.”

Mrs Rogers nodded in silent understanding and opened her arms in a clear invitation.

Darcy stepped into her embrace and let the tears fall down her face. For a moment she allowed herself to sink into the unconditional support of one woman for another.

“Just know you have options,” Mrs Rogers murmured into her ear, “And you are not alone. I know the police aren’t all that useful for these sorts of things, but they can help some. And if you need somewhere to run, you can come here any time.”

“Thank you,” Darcy choked out, “Thank you for everything. For understanding, for inviting me into your home, for raising a son who helps strangers on the street. Thank you for being so kind.”

“You want to know a secret?” Mrs Rogers asked with a smile as they pulled apart, “Most people are. I know that’s hard to believe when you’ve just come out of a situation like yours, but the truth is most people are good, decent humans who will help if you ask.”

Darcy smiled, wiping at her tear stained face with her sleeve, “You know, when you say it, I almost believe it.”

“We’ll get you there some day.” Mrs Rogers patted her shoulder once more before turning back to the dishes in the sink. “Why don’t you go clean up in the bathroom before the boys get back.”

Darcy nodded and moved away, snagging the makeup compact from her purse on the way past.

When she got back, Steve and Bucky had returned from their venture upstairs, confirming that Mr Huang was just fine and had, in fact, been surprised that they hadn’t heard him singing.

“It’s getting a bit late,” Darcy announced, “And Mrs Benthelwaite is probably counting the minutes waiting for me to get home.”

“Of course, dear,” Mrs Rogers nodded, “Bucky will walk you home.”

She gave Bucky a shove, forcing him out of his position on the sofa.

Darcy was going to object to the escort, but realised that after her confessions tonight, she would be lucky if Mrs Rogers let her go anywhere unchaperoned again.

“Alright,” Darcy conceded, but turned a sharp glare on Bucky and raised an eyebrow, “But no flirting.”

-

“Remember when you told me it’s not going to happen?” Bucky asked halfway home.

“Vividly,” Darcy replied warily.

“Was that specific to me? Or is it a common rule for everyone?” He asked.

“Why would it matter to you?” Darcy countered, prepared to defend her right to say no without reason or explanation.

“I, um, I saw the way Steve was looking at you.” Bucky answered carefully.

All of Darcy’s intended arguments derailed in an instant because _Steve_.

She couldn’t deny the spark she felt with him, how he made her feel safe and almost normal. He was so sweet and funny and, shit, his voice did _things_ to her. If this was a normal time and place, and if they were regular people, she had to admit, she’d have staked a claim already.

But it wasn’t a remotely normal time. And neither of them were regular people. He was Captain freaking America. And, perhaps higher praise after the night she’d had, he was the son of Sarah freaking Rogers. He was so far out of her league they weren’t in the same solar system.

And she had rule 4 for a reason. She didn’t belong here, and she couldn’t stay.

She knew Bucky was still waiting for her to say something, anything, but she couldn’t seem to find any words.

“Steve is –, I’m not –” She took a breath and tried again, “We can’t, I mean, he knows that I can’t… It’s just not an option.”

Bucky gave her a knowing look, “Which means you saw the way he looked at you, too.”

Darcy closed her eyes and stopped walking, taking a moment to steady her breath and reign in the emotions that were already close to the surface after her talk with Mrs Rogers.

“It’s not an option.” She repeated firmly.

“Does he know that?” Bucky asked quietly, “Because Steve isn’t like me. He doesn’t give his heart lightly.”

“I told him I can’t –” Darcy began but broke off, shaking her head.

She’d told him she couldn’t be his friend. Then she’d dragged him into awkward shenanigans and practically invited herself for dinner with his family. That was the definition of mixed messages.

She looked up at Bucky and found him watching her, waiting to see her response.

“I don’t want to hurt him.” She told him sincerely, “But I don’t know how to stop him feeling things besides cutting him out of my life completely. And I can’t do that.”

Steve’s life depended on her sticking around. Though she couldn’t tell Bucky that.

Instead, she shrugged and gave him a sad smile, “He’s the only friend I have here.”

Apparently, her answer passed some kind of test, because Bucky smiled and offered his arm to continue walking her home.

“Just make sure he knows if it’s really not an option. Make sure he knows now, before it becomes a bigger thing.” Bucky advised, “And as long as you keep doing your best not to hurt him, then he’s not your only friend here.”

Darcy accepted his elbow and let him lead her the short distance left to the door of Mrs Benthelwaite’s apartment building.

“Thanks, Bucky,” She told him earnestly.

“It was no problem at all, Miss Theodore,” He replied with his full-charm grin, “I hope you had a lovely evening.”

Darcy shook her head but let the hint of flirting slide. She turned to make her way up the steps to the front door, but Bucky’s voice stalled her.

“Hey Billie?” He was serious again, “Whatever your reasons for saying it’s not an option; don’t think I didn’t notice how you looked at him, too, tonight. Probably not my place to ask what you’re thinking there, but I hope you know that you won’t find a guy better than Steve Rogers.”

Darcy sighed, “Trust me, Bucky, I am well aware of that fact.”


	12. Bring Words to a Gun Fight

The next morning, Darcy was up early enough to satisfy even Mrs Benthelwaite’s expectations. Though she’d not been impressed with the time Darcy came home the previous night, or the person who’d escorted her, she’d grudgingly let the issue go once Darcy mentioned that Mrs Rogers had been there as well.

Darcy helped to get the children fed and ready for school but made her excuses and left before the rest of them. Steve would be leaving for work soon, and she needed to make sure Pinstripes hadn’t set another ambush.

She checked her own street carefully before exiting the building and wound a slightly circuitous route back to Steve’s. The last thing she needed was for Pinstripes to find where she was staying.

She approached Steve’s street from an alley between buildings and peered furtively around the corner.

Shit.

Carrington was there. Sitting at a bus stop half a block down from Steve’s apartment.

Double shit.

She pulled her head back around the corner and considered her options.

They weren’t great.

She couldn’t see a way to extract Steve from this situation easily.

What she really needed was to get some sort of control here.

Darcy straightened up and set her shoulders. This might be the stupidest thing she’d ever done; a high bar at this point. It was very probably the last thing she’d ever do.

“Too bad,” She whispered to herself, “You ran out of time for quality plans decades from now.”

And with that, she strode around the corner and headed straight for the man who wanted to kill her.

She approached with her hands open at her sides, clearly empty of weapons. It didn’t seem to make much difference. As soon as he saw her coming, he stood and pulled out his gun.

Darcy heard a sharp gasp as a bystander who had been heading for the bus stop quickly veered another way.

“You need me alive.” She told Pinstripes as confidently and calmly as she could manage, continuing to walk slowly forward until she was close enough to jump in the way if he tried to turn the gun on someone else. “You’ll never get back if you kill me.”

He hesitated, and Darcy felt relief surge through her. She hadn’t been sure he’d take any time to listen. She might not be safe yet, but she’d made it past the first obstacle.

“I took the recall device apart,” She lied, “And hid the pieces separately. You’ll never find it without me, which means you’ll never get home.”

Pinstripes narrowed his eyes at her, gun still pointed her way, but he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well,” He countered, “Maybe I’m fine staying here.”

“And do what?” She asked, “Wait years to find out if it even worked? Wait decades to find the people capable of trying again if it doesn’t? Going back is the most important part of the experiment. It’s the only way to know what you actually achieve.”

Darcy heard shouts behind her and saw Pinstripes’ eyes dart around them at the small crowd that was starting to appear. She didn’t look. She kept her eyes steady on him, ready to move if he did. But she could see the conflict in his eyes now. He’d drawn attention and he wouldn’t get out of here easily now if he shot her, or anyone.

“What are you proposing?” He asked.

Darcy hesitated, suddenly realising she’d left an important part out of her plan. She had nothing she was willing to offer him, which made negotiating hard.

“We leave now,” She said, knowing that wasn’t an option anyway, “You stop trying to kill him, I’ll take you back now.”

He shook his head, “No, you won’t. You know there’s nothing that would stop us from coming back again without you. Whatever your plan is here, I’m not stupid enough to fall for it.”

Nice of him to think she had a plan, Darcy told herself.

“You’re right,” She agreed, “I’m not going to let you do this. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you. Even if it means I’m stuck here forever, too.”

Pinstripes was looking behind her now, annoyance on his face. She heard Steve’s voice call her fabricated name and knew exactly what Pinstripes was thinking.

“You know what happens if you try now.” She told him quietly, gesturing at the people around them, some yelling that they’d called the police, some trying to move in like they could bring him down themselves, “You won’t get away from here.”

He spun his gun away from her for the first time, brandishing it towards the teenagers who had been trying to sneak up on him.

“You may have gotten lucky a few times,” He told her as he backed away, “But that won’t last. And once I’ve killed him, I’ll have plenty of time to deal with you.”

With that, he spun, shoving people out of his way as he took off down the street.

Darcy remained where she was, numb. She couldn’t really believe that had worked. She really, really thought he was just going to kill her.

“Billie!” Steve was beside her suddenly, concerned eyes pulling her out of her daze. “Are you okay? Wasn’t that the guy from before?”

Darcy’s hands were starting to shake as the adrenaline faded and the weight of what had just happened, what _could_ have just happened hit her full strength.

“Steve,” Her voice was unsteady, breathless. She reached out with trembling hands for something, anything, solid to hold onto, and caught Steve’s arm, “You know that thing you do with your voice where you make it all smooth and low and calm and you say that things are going to be okay like you really believe it?”

He grasped her arms, holding her steady, rooted to this place. For a moment he just stared at her, searching her gaze for something she couldn’t guess at.

“Things are going to be okay,” He told her, quietly but fervently, “You’re okay, and you’re not alone, and things _are_ going to be okay.”

Darcy took one shuddering breath that seemed to clear the worst of the panic, “Holy shit, you make me actually believe you. How do you do that?”

“Because I believe it,” He told her with absolute certainty, “Things will be okay, because we’ll _make_ them okay.”

Darcy took a smoother breath and nodded, gathering back her control. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Do you need to sit down?” Steve asked gently.

“No!” Carrington could still be out there, he could be hiding just around the corner waiting for Steve there, “I think I need to be moving. Adrenaline, you know? Are you on your way to work? Mind if I walk you?”

“Well,” Steve looked at her in confusion, apparently struggling to keep up with her quick shift from panic to mania, “I’m sure someone called the police, they’ll want to talk to you about what happened.”

Darcy shook her head vehemently, “Nope, can’t stay standing here. I need to be not standing still right now. Someone else can tell them what happened, right?”

She glanced around and found one of the teenagers who had attempted to come to her rescue.

“You can stay for the police, can’t you?” She asked, “Tell them what happened? Get their contact information. I’ll go talk to them later. I just, I need to be moving now.”

She started moving without waiting for a response, practically dragging Steve since she still held his arm.

“Billie,” Steve struggled to keep up and she forced herself to slow her pace for him, “You’re allowed to be not okay right now. That guy pointed a gun at you. You can take the time to stop and think.”

“Not thinking,” Darcy interjected, though her brain was whirling through all sorts of things, “I don’t want to be thinking right now. I want to be moving. Taking action, making choices, controlling my own future. Even if it’s just walking you to work.”

“Uh, okay,” Steve agreed bemusedly, falling in beside her more sedate pace.

“So how was your morning, Steve?” Darcy asked in an overly chipper voice. “Did you have a good breakfast?”

She forced Steve to talk about incredibly mundane things during the walk to his work, her eyes constantly searching for threats. They talked about the price of bread, and the colour of the posters in the bridal shop window, and the best way to deal with blisters on your toes.

By the time they arrived at Steve’s work, Darcy felt almost centred again.

“Well,” She gestured at the building, “This is you. I think I might do that sitting down thing now. Maybe even try the thinking part.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Steve asked, “I could see if someone can cover me if you need me to stay.”

“Thanks, Steve, but I’ve got it from here. Sorry about the whole,” She waved her hands vaguely at the sides of her head to indicate her slight freak out, “thing. But you should get to work.”

“Why is that man trying to kill you?” Steve asked her.

“I call him Pinstripes,” Darcy admitted, but shook her head, “and I really can’t talk about what he wants or why I’m here or what we’ve come from. It’s not safe.”

“You know you can trust me, right?”

“It’s not about trust, Steve,” She assured him, “I promise I trust you more than anyone else I’ve met in this decade. It’s about not fucking up the future. Which is kind of a big deal. Like, a way bigger deal than you could even comprehend right now. The number of lives that I could destroy with the wrong word in the wrong place is… I don’t even have a word for it. Terrifying.”

“That… sounds like a lot to carry alone.” Steve didn’t seem to know how to react to that.

“Well, alone is pretty much the only option I have right now.” Darcy tried to sound unfazed by the idea.

“Hey, I told you that you’re not alone, and I meant it.” Steve assured her, “I know you said you can’t have a friend here, but the offer’s still open.”

“Actually,” Darcy admitted, “I changed my mind on that one. You were right; I could definitely use a friend here.”

“Well, then, you have one,” Steve replied easily, “And I get that you don’t think you can talk about the big things, but if you ever need someone to listen to the things around those, or how you’re feeling about whatever you can’t talk about, or vague non-specific references that don’t make sense, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Darcy hesitated, but decided to roll with her instincts, “Hey, um, you have a better grasp of societal norms and expectations here than I do, so… would it be weird if I hugged you now?”

“Oh, well, um, unusual, probably, but not something that would be, um, frowned upon.” Steve scratched at his head awkwardly, blushing slightly.

“Cool,” Darcy smiled, “Hey, Steve, can I hug you?”

“Uh…” Steve looked at her uncertainly, “Yes?”

Darcy laughed and stepped back, “Very convincing. You know, if the answer is no, you should really learn how to say the word ‘no’.”

“It’s not!” Steve moved forward while Darcy continued to retreat slowly, “I mean, if it would make you happy, it’s fine.”

“It’s cool,” Darcy reassured him, “It clearly makes you uncomfortable; and friends don’t make friends uncomfortable. We can work up to hugs.”

“Oh,” Steve stepped back again, clearly with no idea what he was meant to do with her, “Okay. Well… I should probably get to work then... Have a nice day, Billie.”

“You too, Steve,” Darcy turned to walk away, but spun back as Bucky’s advice popped into her mind, “Oh, Steve, just to be clear, it’s not going to be anything other than friends. I want to pre-empt any potential misunderstandings there. Friends are great. I love all my friends. Friendship is the best. Can’t be anything beyond that, ever.”

“Right,” Steve nodded, “I know. You’re not meant to be here, and you’re not staying. Obviously, nothing other than friends.”

“Good,” Darcy nodded, ignoring the slight constriction in her throat. She’d just been held at gunpoint. It was definitely related to that. Nothing to do with Steve. “Same page. Excellent.”

She waved at him as she turned around again, walking away before she could put her foot any further into her mouth.


	13. Normal is Subjective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've written next to nothing all week and today I'm super depressed and feel like I might never write again. So that's great.
> 
> Fortunately, I've got a buffer of written chapters for precisely this kind of reason so here's the next one anyway. Hopefully I can remember how to write and find my way back into this story before that buffer runs out.

The next week passed in a blur of anxiety and action.

After leaving Steve, hopefully safe, at work, Darcy had ventured over to Mariana’s to collect her new identification papers. She also requested a few more that Steve Rogers didn’t need to know about.

With proof of her shiny new identity in hand, she went to the police. The last thing she wanted was for them to start looking for her, and she’d decided that having others looking out for Carrington could be helpful.

She told them that she’d just been walking down the street when this man had just pulled a gun on her. She’d tried to talk him down but hadn’t really understood what he was talking about. He’d seemed to think he knew her, maybe thought she was someone else, so she’d just tried to play along in the hopes he wouldn’t shoot her.

Trusting in misogyny to support her act, she used terrified tears to convince them that she really ought to be kept in the loop if they found any trace of him. Then she helped them draw up a sketch and walked away with their promise that all she needed to do was call and they’d be there to help.

She met Steve as he was leaving work in the evenings and convinced him to show her around the area some, taking a twisting, unpredictable path home.

On Thursday, she elbowed Pinstripes in the face when he stepped out of a doorway with a knife.

She collected the additional false identification papers from Mariana and took one set on a day trip to Queens where Hermione Wells obtained a safety deposit box in which she stored one odd little device and a small pile of cash, mostly in foreign currencies.

On Sunday, she shoved Steve into a market stall when she saw Pinstripes appear ahead with a gun, then claimed a twisted ankle and could he please help her sit down over here inside this building with no windows?

Each day she was certain would be the one she failed and Steve died; or the day she lost it under the constant anxiety and just left everyone to their fates.

But the one week mark rolled around, and then two weeks.

She started making him take her to a different bakery each morning to make the walk to work less predictable. That was clearly not something that was really done in this time. When he wondered at her ability to waste money in such a way, she had to confess that she’d stolen a fair bit from the man trying to kill her, and she didn’t really feel any guilt about using his money to have a little bit of fun.

She definitely didn’t feel any guilt about using his money to make his job harder.

Guilt came from other sources. She felt guilty for keeping his money to herself when so many were struggling around her. She felt guilty about leaving Jane behind, even though she knew that no matter how long it took for her to push the button, it would be only 5 minutes to Jane. She felt guilty about lying to Steve, who was always so honest with her, to Mrs Benthelwaite, who was a nightmare to live with but also the most protective person she’d ever met, and to Bucky, who she couldn’t save.

Every time she looked at Bucky, she saw the future ahead of him. She felt sick with the knowledge of what was to come. The torture, the brainwashing. Decades of it before he would finally be freed.

And then, surely, the memories would haunt him for the rest of his days.

She wished she could save him, but it was all too uncertain. He’d been in the background of so many major historical moments, the tool used to change the world. She had no way of guessing just how huge the changes would be if she saved him, what might be better and what would be worse.

So guilt plagued her whenever she was around him, whenever she saw him from a distance, whenever he was mentioned in conversation.

But spending time with Steve meant spending time with Bucky, too. So, despite her guilt, she joined them for trips to the movies, to the beach, to church.

Some of those activities she enjoyed more than others.

And as she spent more time with Steve and Bucky, she somehow felt both more guilty, and also less. In her head, Bucky stopped being _The Winter Soldier_ and Steve stopped being _Captain America_. They were just Steve and Bucky. Adorable dork and arrogant smartass. She started to forget just how much the future weighed on these two idiots who wasted too much energy trying make her laugh, or showing her the sights of Brooklyn, or trying to convince her that she should read Ernest Hemingway.

But when it came back to her, just what she was doing here, what fate awaited these boys, the guilt came back twice as heavy.

The really strange thing was, in between the terror and guilt and periodic assassination attempts, it all felt so… normal.

Maybe her idea of normal had been reset by weeks held captive underground. Or maybe it was just down to the incredible adaptability of humans. Anything can become normal when it’s the only option.

But maybe it was them. They made space for her in their lives with such ease, acting like it was entirely normal.

She was lucky, really. She remembered her early plan, to stay clear of anyone and everyone, but she couldn’t imagine the state she’d be in now if she’d tried that.

Actually, the problem was she could imagine too well. She’d have no ally that she could tug aside and ask about something that was clearly common knowledge. She wouldn’t be staying with a woman who was obsessive about locks and watching the streets. She probably wouldn’t have multiple sets of very convincing identification papers. And without those, she wouldn’t have risked going to the police, who she now visited a few times a week to see if they’d made any progress finding Pinstripes.

They’d gotten close a few times and they kept letting her know where there’d been sightings, ostensibly so she could steer clear of those areas. She had purchased a map to keep track herself, hoping to narrow down where Carrington might be staying.

If she hadn’t embraced Steve’s offer of friendship, she’d have been on edge all the time, isolated, and without any way to break the tension.

Because they did that so well. Bucky told jokes and introduced her to new people and talked about everything. Steve listened without judgement or questioning no matter what ridiculous thing she threw at him. Mrs Rogers gave the best hugs she’d had in years. They filled her time with everyday adventures, and peaceful community, and undemanding welcome.

There was only one real problem – besides guilt, which she’d already accepted wouldn’t be going away – with having made these friendships, just one thing that made her more anxious, that made her more worried about what was happening rather than less.

Bucky kept giving her knowing glances and salacious winks.

She knew how it looked. The evening strolls, the daily breakfasts and periodic lunches, the way she knew where he would be at all times. She knew exactly what it looked like.

It looked like she was full on wooing Steve Rogers.

It worried her. It worried her a lot.

She wasn’t surprised the first time someone called her “Steve’s girl”. She’d corrected them that time, but they’d just given a her a look like she was stupid and called her that again the next time.

She tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter what other people thought. There was nothing romantic going on between her and Steve, and there couldn’t be. Ever. She knew that, and he knew that. They hadn’t technically talked about it since the first time, and, yes, okay, she had decided not to try and hug him again, and that decision had been entirely because adding physical contact to the mix seemed like it might be emotionally unwise.

But she’d made herself clear, and Steve had agreed. So, it didn’t matter what people thought they saw. She and Steve had an understanding, and everybody else could fuck off, including James Barnes.

So, she told him that. Frequently.

Mostly he just laughed it off and kept up the winks and nudges. But sometimes she could see that it worried him, too, the damage she could do to his friend’s heart.

Because she could, she knew. She saw it herself, every day. In the way Steve watched her, tracking her motions; the way he lit up when he saw her. Much as she wanted to deny it, she recognised what was happening. Just like she recognised the way her pulse jumped when he smiled at her, the warmth she felt when he surprised her at work.

Of course, that one was immediately followed by fear at the thought of all the places Carrington could have ambushed him as he walked alone to her work.

It had quickly become clear that she couldn’t stay here and remain unnoticed if she didn’t have a job. In fact, she would still stand out if she only had one job. But she also couldn’t risk work that would keep her tied up for untold hours.

At first, she told people she was looking but hadn’t yet found anything. But that only lasted a few days before people started telling her about friends of friends who knew about a job. And if she didn’t follow up on those tips then they would come back to ask her about it repeatedly.

So, she started going to the job interviews, but telling them she had a condition. She couldn’t sit too long. Or stand too long. Or walk too long. Or write, or read, or type too long. She had responsibilities that meant she needed to be home by 4pm. She didn’t know how to do any of the things they needed.

That just earned her disapproving glares from Mrs Benthelwaite and her ilk who had heard about her arrogance, thinking she was better than everyone else and wouldn’t take an honest job.

It was, surprisingly, Mariana who came to her rescue.

She hadn’t spoken to the woman since collecting the last set of false papers she’d had drawn up, not wanting to be linked to the only person who could tell Carrington all the aliases she had. But one day Steve handed her a note that he’d been given by a common friend. It merely stated that Mariana had heard she was looking for work within limited requirements, and suggested she try a shoemaker a few blocks away, perhaps around 10am the next day.

She didn’t have high hopes as she made her way to the address listed in the note, but she was willing to at least learn more about it.

She was met at the door by the man who owned the shop, Mr Fernandez. He was old; the kind of old that made her bones ache just looking at him. But his eyes were sharp, and he spoke with the air of someone used to getting his way.

He needed someone to help man the shop, he explained. His eyesight was going, and he didn’t have the patience to deal with people anymore. His children had moved out to expand the business elsewhere and they couldn’t afford to close the other shops to come back and help him here. There were people trying to swindle him, he was sure of it, but with his weakened eyes and slow movements it was hard to catch them.

He needed someone sharp, someone reliable and respectable, who could stand up for themselves, and could be trusted. Could be trusted with all sorts of things.

Someone unremarkable and easily overlooked.

And if that person happened to be friendly with local police, but also vouched for by someone on the less lawful side of society, all the better.

Mrs Benthelwaite had been right. Darcy wasn’t going to get an honest job.

She would need to be there between 9 and 4 during the week, to take deliveries of the supplies and orders for shoes. She’d need to count the money carefully, ensuring there wasn’t any missing. If she needed to leave early or run errands, they could work around such things.

It was prefect really. Exactly what she needed.

The fact that it was a front for a complex smuggling operation was really a bonus. They trusted her because they knew she needed the cover more than she needed the money. They paid her as little as they could get away with on record and considerably more in untraceable notes. Plus, she was earning as much as most of the other women she’d met, while working half the hours.

And they could get almost anything she needed, if she asked for it.

She hadn’t asked for a gun. Not yet.

She knew it might come to that. Hell, she knew it would probably come to that. In fact, she was pretty sure the day would come when she would regret having been squeamish about it now, when she’d wish that she’d just turned full assassin on day one and taken out Carrington clean and quick.

But she couldn’t do it.

Thinking about it made her physically ill. She woke up sweating, heart racing, from dreams about it most nights.

She couldn’t make herself go looking for him, knowing that if she found him one of them would die. Not when she knew she wasn’t capable of making sure it was him.

Instead, she stayed on the defensive. She spent every spare minute with Steve, forcing him to make his life as unpredictable as possible. She poured over Carrington’s notebook looking for clues about how he might think, where he might try to ambush the latent superhero. She broke into Steve’s work and his apartment building looking for places where traps could be set, where bombs could be hidden, where gas mains could be tampered with.

So far, Carrington had aimed for precision. He didn’t want to hurt any bystanders. Probably, like her, he was wary about who could be the grandparents of important people. He wouldn’t want to risk wiping any of his Hydra friends out of existence.

For the moment, crowds mostly seemed to provide protection. But she couldn’t count on him staying that clinical. If she kept thwarting his plans, then he could get desperate.

Darcy started seeing potential traps everywhere she looked. Everyday objects turned into deadly weapons in her imagination. Every street corner hid untold potential ways of dying.

It meant she was prepared when a car veered suddenly towards them, or when a bullet hit a wall right next to them without warning. But it also meant she jumped in front of Steve when a cyclist came around a corner too fast, and she punched a newspaper salesman who didn’t know the meaning of personal space, and she spun to look anytime something moved in the corner of her eye.

Steve wasn’t stupid. He saw how she reacted to tiny things, but also couldn’t fail to notice how often real threats occurred.

She confessed to him that she looked up at every corner she went around, just in case there was a piano that could fall as she walked underneath.

A week later, he confessed that he’d started doing it, too.

Was it a problem, she wondered, that she was probably scarring Steve for life? She was certainly changing how he reacted to the world. A few months with her would probably be enough to give him PTSD.

But then again, she reminded herself, he was going to go to war. Where threats really would be everywhere and there would be more than one person trying to kill him.

Really, she was just getting a jump start on his training. A messy, make-it-up-as-we-go-along start to the training.

She had felt like it was strange, how quickly this had all felt normal. As if that was just how life worked – watching for assassination attempts while lying to everyone she cared about and trying not to cultivate romantic feelings from or towards the guy she was meant to be protecting. It was just another routine that filled the days and made time pass.

She’d known, logically, that it wasn’t going to stay like that for long. She was prepared for it, contingencies put in place for all sorts of different possibilities.

And yet, she was still so surprised when the pattern changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I did not have the mental energy to proof-read this, so if you spotted any glaring errors then let me know and I'll fix it. Minor errors I probably don't care about today.


	14. There’s Always a Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the lovely comments. I'm very much intending to reply to them individually soon, but life stuff has been hectic lately and so it might not be for a while. I do really appreciate them, though, and each new message makes my day. Thankfully, I am feeling better now. I'm still not writing much and this chapter is from the buffer that was written a while ago. With the aforementioned life stuff, I really only have the emotional energy for very light and fluffy stories right now which this is...not. 
> 
> On that note:
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> This chapter contains a pretty detailed description of a physical attack. If that will be a challenge for you, please skip to the end notes where I will summarise the gist of the chapter. Look after yourselves!

She didn’t see it coming.

That was the first thought that went through her head when the arm went around her throat.

Her second thought was more instinct than consciousness: she tried to gasp out a cry for help. But he’d expected that, and she choked as a lump of fabric was shoved in her mouth.

She hadn’t seen it coming.

She tried to stomp behind her like Miss Congeniality had taught her but, before she could find his foot, she lost all leverage when he dragged her backwards. The pressure of her own weight on the arm around her throat brought darkness, swirling, to the edges of her vision and it was all she could do to keep her feet mostly under her, so she wouldn’t pass out completely.

Why hadn’t she seen it coming?

She clawed at the arm, fingernails drawing blood without gaining useful purchase. She followed the arm to the hand, pulling at individual fingers, trying to break his grip. She heard a satisfying grunt of pain as she managed to lever up one of his fingers to an angle he clearly didn’t like. But the next minute her head collided with something hard and, in the daze, she lost her grip, her balance, and an unknown number of minutes.

She should have seen it coming.

She felt like she was choking on the cloth in her mouth, not helped by the constant pressure around her throat. Every tiny bit of air she managed to get into her lungs was a fight and gone too quickly. She could barely see her surroundings, eyes blurred with both tears and spots of light that told her she’d be lucky to stay conscious at all.

She’d been alone, enjoying the last of the day’s sunshine, heading for dinner with Steve and his mother and Bucky, which had become a bit of a tradition. The streets were quiet, but not empty, and the sky was blue, and she’d had a good day, and Steve was safe at home.

She’d felt almost safe. She hadn’t been watching her own back. She’d gotten so used to watching out for Steve, she hadn’t been ready for him to target her.

He was pulling her up some stairs, she realised. She dragged at the arm around her throat with one hand, trying to get any extra space she could around her airways. Her other hand crawled higher, reaching, feeling for anything she could hurt. She found a handful of hair and _gripped_. She didn’t have the strength or the leverage or the mental capacity to figure out how to really yank at his hair, so she just held on and let her own body weight drag at the hair follicles. She felt strands slowly come loose from his scalp and heard him growl _bitch_ in her ear.

She saw it coming this time when he swung her face towards the doorframe. She tried to roll her head with the impact but she couldn’t move enough to have much effect. The sharp pain stabbed through her head when it connected with the wood, and the darkness eating away at the edge of her vision swam inward.

He threw he to the ground, and in a part of her brain she was up and fighting him straight away.

But with the sudden release of pressure on her throat, too much of her focus was instantly on breathing, coughing around the fabric in her throat, dragging air in through her nose and fighting, desperately, not to breath in the fabric, not to choke herself now that he’d stopped doing it.

Maybe a fighter would have ignored it. Maybe a soldier would have focussed on the real threat, the man. Maybe someone smarter would have tried to get away. Maybe someone stronger or faster or more prepared or less _Darcy_ would have been ready.

Darcy clawed for her own face, instincts driving, needing to clear her airway. As if he’d been waiting for it, as soon as she cleared the clump of fabric and took one gasping breath he kicked her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her entirely.

And while she fought to breathe, to stay conscious, to remain alive; he dragged her hands behind her back and bound them together.

She tried to kick at him. She knew she needed to fight, needed to do something.

But she couldn’t think straight. Her vision was swimming and her heart was racing and all she could think was that it was too late. She’d lost.

If she’d only seen it coming, maybe – Maybe something. But she couldn’t think what.

He kicked her again. In the back, kidneys this time.

It was a familiar feeling. The numerous Hydra guards had kicked her the same way when they’d been trying to make Jane help them by hurting Darcy.

The familiarity of the sensation seemed to bring her back to herself somewhat. Or maybe it was the fact that her lungs were starting to work again, oxygen bursting through her system. The world slowly swam back into focus around her.

She couldn’t see much without moving. Just a floor, dirty and cluttered. A bit of a wall, poorly crafted graffiti visible in the corner. Clearly the room had been home to squatters at some point, and rats more recently.

She tried to lift her head, but pain throbbed through her head and neck, and her vision darkened at the motion. She stopped trying to move.

Sounds. That would be her best source of information now. She doubted smell or taste would help her and she was feeling way too much to be useful right now. So, listen. That’s the only option left.

There were footsteps moving around her. Carrington, she assumed, though she hadn’t actually seen his face in the struggle.

A metallic dragging noise started, coming slowly towards her along with the footsteps.

Carrington stepped into her line of sight. He was holding something, pulling it along the wall as he moved down the room. She couldn’t tell what it was from her restricted angle.

“Well, Darcy Lewis,” He spoke quietly, calmly, “You’ve been entirely too problematic.”

Darcy coughed and choked out, “Oops, my bad.”

Carrington stepped closer and dropped to a knee, watching her face, “It’s time to fix that problem.”

He placed a hammer on the ground in front of her face.

Panic speared through Darcy and she felt herself start to hyperventilate.

A hammer.

A fucking hammer.

And he was going to use that to – oh, god.

Darcy had been kidnapped and beaten by Hydra before. She’d volunteered to be the guinea pig in experimental science. She’d faced down multiple assassination attempts.

She’d never been so fucking scared.

“No,” She whispered, then gasped in a breath and forced a shout through her bruised vocal cords, “HELP! HEL-!”

Pinstripes clamped a hand over her mouth, shoving her back against the ground.

“I need answers,” He told her, nothing but cold fury in his eyes, “But I’m not a fan of screaming. So, your choices are limited. Before you decide, you should probably consider that everyone has a breaking point, and I’m more than happy to do whatever I have to to find yours.”

He broke off suddenly, turning towards the side of the room that she couldn’t see. For a moment, she wondered why, but then she heard it.

Footsteps coming up the stairs.

Darcy tried to call out around Carrington’s hand, but the muffled sound didn’t amount to much. As the footsteps moved closer, Carrington reached to the side and picked up his gun.

Darcy didn’t know who was out there, but she knew they were her only chance of getting out of this. She tried biting at Carrington’s hand, but he only flinched and ignored her, keeping his grip on her face firm.

The footsteps were close now, and she couldn’t shout a warning.

She pulled her knees up, trying to find purchase with her feet, and, mustering every bit of strength she could find, she waited for the moment.

The footsteps stopped outside the door, Darcy saw Carrington’s eyes narrow, and she shoved her legs out, throwing herself into his side as he pulled the trigger.

She didn’t have much control over how she moved, and she picked up more bruises as she rolled over Carrington and hit the floor again. But she could see the doorway now, could see that it had worked. The shot had gone wide, leaving the person standing there unharmed.

Bucky straightened from where he’d instinctively ducked at the sound of the gunshot and moved forward.

But he was too far across the room, and Carrington was raising his gun again.

“The Winter Soldier!” Darcy croaked, and Carrington froze, “You can’t risk it.”

She could almost see the thoughts circling through his head, the calculations, the things it could change.

Then he shifted the gun to point at her instead.

“Move another step and I shoot her,” He growled at Bucky, moving backwards towards the window.

Bucky stopped, hands out, “Billie?”

“I think I’d prefer you didn’t move another step,” She admitted with a groan.

Carrington reached the window and climbed out onto the fire escape, gun still steady on her, eyes on Bucky.

When he reached the edge of the fire escaped he looked at her.

“This isn’t over.” He promised, and spun to jump down, out of sight.

Bucky rushed to the window as soon as the gun was no longer pointed at Darcy.

“He’s running south,” Bucky told her and shifted like he was going to climb out the window and follow.

“Bucky,” Darcy’s voice was a feeble broken thing, “Please don’t leave me here.”

He turned back to look at her and seemed to fully process her state for the first time.

“Jesus Christ,” He whispered, moving towards her quickly, but carefully, as if he worried stepping on the wrong floorboard could hurt her more. “Jesus, Billie.”

“Yeah,” She let out a small sob, “I’ve been better.”

He knelt beside her and tried to gently untie her hands, but the knots proved to be beyond gentle and it took some serious tugging to unwind the bonds.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” He told her as he worked, but she could hear the tears in his voice, “It’s going to be okay now. We’ll get you out of here and get you help.”

When her hands were free, he helped her sit up, bearing most of her weight, holding her close. She unabashedly clung to him, letting the tears flow silently, pretending that the fleeting comfort of a friend’s arms could keep her safe.

“How did you find me?” She asked.

“Saw him take you,” He answered gruffly, “I was trying to catch up to you, thought we could walk to the Rogers’ together. He just jumped out of a doorway and dragged you right off the street. I followed but I couldn’t tell where he’d taken you until you yelled.”

“Thank you,” She whispered.

“Don’t,” He growled, “Don’t thank me. If I had been faster... If I’d gotten here sooner…”

“Stop,” Darcy shook her head, but quickly regretted it, “If you play that game then I’ll play the what if you were here slower, or I hadn’t shouted loud enough, or you hadn’t been behind me on the street game, and then I’ll start hyperventilating again and breathing hurts too much for that.”

“Okay,” His voice broke but he cleared his throat and tried again, “Okay, let’s get you downstairs and I’ll find someone to call an ambulance.”

“No, no ambulance, no hospital.”

“Billie,” Bucky’s exasperation was clear, “You’re seriously hurt. You need medical help.”

“I can’t,” Darcy’s voice rose in pitch and her breath hitched at the thought, “I can’t do the hospital right now. The questions. The looks. I _can’t_ , Bucky, please.”

He sighed, “Fine. But I’m taking you to Mrs Rogers.”

“Okay,” Darcy agreed, “Yeah, okay, that sounds smart.”

And Steve would be there, and she needed to see him, needed to see with her own eyes that her mission hadn’t failed yet.

“Can you walk?” Bucky asked, “Or do you need me to carry you?”

Darcy assessed the pain she felt… everywhere and the wooziness that came in waves.

“I have no idea,” She admitted, “Shall we try and see?”

Darcy squeaked when he ignored her suggestion and swooped her into his arms.

“Woah, okay, or that.” She held her breath, the world spinning around her, when he stooped to pick up her purse, which she hadn’t even realised had been tossed into a corner. “Scale of 1 to 10, how bad would it be if I threw up on you?”

“You throw up on me, I’m taking you to the hospital.” Bucky promised.

“So, bad then.” She pulled careful breaths through her nose, “Fine, no vomiting until we get to the Rogers’.”

“I’d pick no vomiting at all, if I get a vote.” Bucky countered.

“Great, that brings the total votes for no vomiting up to two.” Darcy focussed on her breathing and her sarcasm as they made their way out of the building. She spared a thought to make note of the alleyway they found themselves in but wasn’t quite sure what she wanted that information for. “Unfortunately, all of my internal organs get their own separate vote, so we might be outnumbered.”

“It worries me that you aren’t more concerned about this,” Bucky paused at the corner of the alley to check the street was clear, and Darcy thought now probably wasn’t the time to tell him he should be looking up for pianos as well.

“It’s called denial.” She quipped instead, “And it’s excellent. You should try it. Denial makes the world pretend to be a better place.”

“Are you going to talk the whole way?” Bucky asked, breath slightly strained, “Because you’re not the one carrying a whole extra person here.”

Darcy tried to glare at him, but mostly just ended up glaring at his chin. “Fine, I’ll stop talking, as long as you make zero comments about weight or mass or volume. I don’t care if you think what’s in your head is positive or negative. I may not be in the best state for a debate about body positivity and how health isn’t visible right now, but don’t think that will stop me from trying.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Well, if you’re not part of the solution then you’re part of the problem.” Darcy replied. “You are the patriarchy.”

Bucky huffed out an almost laugh, “Do _you_ have any idea what you’re talking about?”

“Seldom, if ever.” Darcy answered drowsily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary:  
> Darcy is dragged off of the street by Pinstripes who makes some rather unpleasant threats. Fortunately, Bucky saw him grab her and shows up before Pinstripes can follow through. After Darcy reminds him that Bucky will be the Winter Soldier, who is a key part of future Hydra actions, Pinstripes decides not to engage with Bucky and runs away instead. Darcy then makes slightly concussed jokes about denial and mildly nonsensical comments about the patriarchy.


	15. I’m a Glow Stick, Not a Tea Cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains the emotional aftermath of a physical attack. I mean, you probably guessed that after the last chapter. These things don't disappear just because they're over. If that could be difficult for you to read, you can skip to the end notes, where I will try to summarise the important bits.
> 
> In better news, I wrote actual words this week! In a mostly useful order and everything. It feels pretty good to be getting things moving again. Fingers-crossed this will carry on for a while.

Darcy made Bucky put her down a block from Steve’s. She thought a half-conscious girl being carried down the street was likely to draw attention. Probably already had drawn attention, but they could at least minimise it and make sure it wasn’t linked to Steve’s place.

Instead, Bucky wrapped an arm firmly around her waist and walked slowly so that she could keep up, leaning heavily into him.

They’d made it to the top of the stairs and half way down the hall to Steve’s door when the nausea Darcy had been fighting back surged.

She choked out his name and Bucky seemed to get the message as he gave up walking at her pace and practically dragged her the rest of the way down the hall. It wasn’t fast enough, though, and mere metres away from their goal she shoved away from him to throw up in the corner.

Bucky somehow managed to avoid getting hit while keeping her mostly upright and leaning over to bang a hand against the wall of the Rogers’ apartment, not quite able to reach the actual door.

She heaved again, too preoccupied to notice when the door opened.

“Bucky? Why are you – Geez, what happened?”

She heard Steve’s voice but didn’t try to turn around. She was too busy breathing slowly through her nose, trying to calm her roiling stomach.

“Help me get her inside.” Was Bucky’s reply, “Is your Ma home?”

Extra hands came to her arms, pulling her gently up. She groaned at the motion but managed to refrain from throwing up anymore.

She was led into the familiar apartment and settled on the sofa. A moment later, someone placed a large bowl in her lap.

“What the hell happened?” Steve asked again, and Darcy looked up to meet his gaze this time. She took in his perfect, worried, unharmed face and smiled.

“I think I have a concussion.” She told him.

“Some man attacked her,” Bucky answered Steve’s question and Darcy saw how Steve’s expression darkened, “Dragged her right off the street. I was a half block away; if I hadn’t seen it…”

Bucky broke off, shaking his head. Darcy was glad; she knew how the sentence ended, everyone could see it. She didn’t need to hear it out loud.

It was in her head now anyway. If Bucky hadn’t seen her…

She’d be there now. Bleeding, broken, intimately familiar with that hammer.

She shuddered, breath speeding up.

Mrs Rogers bustled over with an armful of supplies and settled in front of Darcy with her professional face on.

“Billie, I’m going to need you to tell me what happened.” She spoke calmly, in full nurse-mode, “You said you have a concussion; did he hit you? Where else did he hurt you?”

“Hit my head against the wall,” Darcy stared forward unseeing as she let Mrs Rogers poke and prod at her, “Or a door or something. Twice.”

She was shaking now, tears starting to fall. She could see it so clearly, even the parts she hadn’t been able to see at all. The way he’d dragged her, the feel of his fingers biting into her neck, the terror as everything she tried failed.

She could see blood under her fingernails. Proof that she’d tried. For all that had been worth.

“My neck,” She tried to answer Mrs Rogers question, but couldn’t find the words to describe it, so she raised a hand to where his hand had pressed. “Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stop him.”

Mrs Rogers moved Darcy’s hand aside to inspect the area. Her fingers were gentle, but still they made Darcy flinch at the memory of hands that were anything but gently.

“Anything else, Billie?” Mrs Rogers asked.

“He kicked me.” Darcy answered promptly, “In the stomach and the back, here.” She gestured to the areas.

Mrs Rogers directed her to lie down, reaching out to help when the transition made Darcy dizzy. She felt around the area, asking questions about pain.

Finally, Mrs Rogers stood up with a sigh.

“I don’t think there’s much point in going to the hospital,” She decreed, “With these kinds of injuries they’d just tell you to rest anyway. The most concerning thing is the head injury. It looks like it’s just a mild concussion, but if it’s more serious than it looks then it could be a problem. You’ll have to stay here tonight, and I’ll wake you up regularly to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

“We need to call the police,” Bucky announced, clearly still shaken by what had happened, “I’ll go down to the Leibowitz’s and borrow their phone.”

“No,” Darcy groaned into the couch cushion, “No, don’t call the police.”

“What?” She heard Bucky’s heavy steps thump towards the sofa, “You were just attacked by a stranger on the street. We have to report it, have to find him. What if he does it again? What if he does it to some other woman?”

“He won’t attack any other women.” Darcy answered wearily, finally pulling her head out of the pillow and pushing herself painfully up to sitting.

Silence followed her statement and she looked up to find the three people she cared about most in this time staring down at her with varying expressions of shock, anger, and disappointment.

They were right to be disappointed. She’d failed. So completely failed. She wasn’t good enough, wasn’t fast enough. She was the only one they had to protect them, and they needed better than her.

“You know who he is.” Bucky stated, not a question.

Darcy hesitated. She probably shouldn’t have revealed that. But it was done now, and she couldn’t really refute it.

“Sort of, yeah.”

“Then you have to go to the police!” Bucky shouted, and Darcy flinched at the sound, “You can tell them where to find him. They can stop him.”

“Bucky,” Mrs Rogers admonished, laying a hand on his arm, “Shouting isn’t going to help right now.”

Bucky huffed out a breath in frustration and turned to pace away, but the confrontation wasn’t over.

“Billie, sweetie,” Mrs Rogers moved in front of her, “I know you’re scared, I know you think the police can’t help you, but you need to report this. He’ll keep doing this to you until you stop him. We’ll be here the whole time, you won’t be alone. But you need to talk to the police.”

Darcy shook her head slowly. She couldn’t find the words to explain or deflect or escape. She knew she couldn’t go to the police, and she knew she couldn’t tell them why, but she couldn’t think what she could tell them.

Not when all she could see was a hammer. Sitting on the dusty floor. Right in front of her face.

She shuddered, and a sob slipped out against her will.

“You can,” Mrs Rogers was saying, apparently taking her lack of response for fear. Which it was.

So much fucking fear.

Because they were right. He would keep trying. And he’d proven so easily tonight that she was no match for him. She was short, and weak. The perpetual, fatal flaw of her sex. How many women throughout the world had died the way she almost had tonight? At the hands of a man who thought he had the right and was strong enough to take it.

She’d thought she could face him, stop him. She’d thought she was smart, that the number of times she’d prevented his attacks on Steve meant she was winning.

This was not winning.

“I can’t,” She gasped out, tears flowing freely now. She wasn’t sure what she meant. There were so many things that she just _couldn’t_.

“Listen, Billie,” Bucky came around the sofa again, trying to keep his voice calm and even, but not entirely succeeding. “I get being scared, but you’ll always be scared until you do something.”

Darcy just shook her head again, not caring how it sent pain shooting through her neck, had her reaching for the bowl they’d given her to clutch just in case the nausea rose again.

What could she possibly do?

“Ma, Bucky,” Steve’s voice cut through, low and anguished, but doing a better impression of calm than Bucky’s, “Can you give us a minute? Maybe wait outside?”

Bucky threw up his hands in frustration, “Fine, I’ll just go call the cops then.”

“Not yet, Bucky,” Steve requested, “Just… just let me talk to her first.”

Mrs Rogers gave Darcy an assessing stare, and then asked her directly, “Do you want us to give you and Steve some time to talk?”

Darcy shrugged noncommittally, but then looked up and met Steve’s gaze. The tears ratcheted up a notch at the painful, heart-breaking look in his eye.

He’d said he would listen, that she could tell him or not tell him anything.

She nodded as vigorously as her head could handle.

She stayed where she was as everyone shuffled around her. Bucky and Mrs Rogers eventually ended up outside the door, staring back with concern. Steve sat beside her on the sofa, a damp cloth in his hands.

He took her hands gently and began cleaning the blood and grit from them.

It was such a familiar action that her heart ached and she wanted to cry.

But she was already crying, and she didn’t know how to stop long enough to cry for that instead.

She watched, silently, as he cleared Carrington’s blood from under her fingernails. A distant part of her brain thought _guess there’s no DNA testing yet_ and Darcy almost felt like laughing.

Which didn’t make any sense, so she decided she’d better not.

“I understand why you think you can’t report this,” Steve spoke quietly, but she could see his hands tremble as they moved to clean her up, “But you’ve gone to the police before. They can help find him, stop him. Why can’t you do that now?”

Darcy tried to speak, had to clear her throat twice before a useful sound came out. When it did, she kept her answer as succinct as she could manage.

“Records,” She croaked.

Steve sighed but kept cleaning gently, though her hands were clear of blood and dirt now, “Billie, this isn’t okay. What he did to you – I don’t even know what he did to you.”

“He said he was going to break me,” Darcy’s voice broke, and she saw Steve tense at her words, or maybe her voice, or maybe the tears still rolling down her face.

She was a mess, she knew. A helpless, weak, broken mess.

Something changed in Steve’s face as he watched her, resolve taking the place of the harder to read things. He looked at her like he could see exactly what she was thinking.

“He didn’t,” He told her firmly, “And if we go to the police, we can make sure he never tries again.”

Darcy shook her head again, mystified that he could say that, that he couldn’t just _see_.

Surely it was plain to see; she couldn’t pretend to be close to whole anymore.

“I can’t stop him,” She tried to explain, “I’m not good enough. I’m not enough. I’m just broken.”

“He may have wanted to break you, but he didn’t.” Steve reassured her, “He didn’t get the chance.”

“That’s just it. I think he did.” She let out a small sob, “I fought as hard as I could and there was nothing I could do. I was so sure it was all over, that I’d failed completely, and a part of me felt relieved that it wasn’t up to me anymore. And then he put that hammer down in front of me and my brain threw up a thousand ideas of what he could do with it. He didn’t need to use it. I think he knew that, too. He looked at me and he knew that I was already broken.”

“I – You’re not broken.” Steve told her, and when she clearly didn’t believe him, he repeated it, “You’re _not_. But, Billie, whatever you’re fighting for, maybe it’s not worth this.”

Darcy raised her eyes and met his gaze, the fierce blue that she’d grown to know so well in such a short time. The face she already associated with safety and joy. The man she’d started to love. Slowly, she nodded, a cold clarity welling slowly up from deep inside her.

“It definitely is.”

Steve sighed in frustration, “You say that, you say that whatever you’re here for is bigger than you, but you _matter_ , Billie, and this is tearing you apart. Maybe it’s time to let this go.”

“Fuck you,” Darcy spat, suddenly furious, “Like you’ve ever walked away from a fight in your whole life. Like you wouldn’t give everything you had to do the right thing. You can tell me to let this go when you stop picking fights with bullies twice your size.”

“That’s different,” Steve tried to argue, “I’m not –”

“Not what?” Darcy cut him off, “Not capable of walking up three flights of stairs without stopping to breathe? Not strong enough to pull soaking blankets out of the laundry on your own? Not in possession of a pair of cast iron ovaries? What exactly makes you different than me?”

“I’m not the one who thinks I’m broken.”

Darcy closed her eyes, her fear and doubt and pain hardening into a solid wall around her heart.

“No,” She opened her eyes and met Steve’s gaze with a determination to match his own, “Fuck him, too.”

She lunged for her purse and dug through until she found the small card case she’d been given; surprisingly useful in a pre-internet world. She rifled through until she found the card she wanted and handed it to Steve.

“You can call the police,” She told him, “Ask for Detective Fraser.”

Fraser was the most patronising asshole of all time, but she always knew where she stood with him. And she would need his sources to end this.

“Good, thank you,” Steve sighed in relief, “See? You don’t have to keep doing this alone, Billie. And you can take some time to heal and –”

“No, he was right,” She interrupted, shaking her head, certainty in her tone now, “Everyone does have a breaking point. And this one is mine. I know I can’t go forward the way I was, and I sure as hell can’t go back. Everything’s too damned broken for that.

“But not everyone is a fucking tea cup that becomes useless when it’s broken.” She continued, passion rising as she thought about everything she’d done to get here, everything that was on the line, and just what she was willing to do to finish the job, “Somethings are still entirely functional when they’re a bit broken. And somethings need to be broken to do what they’re meant for. He thinks he’s broken me? Well, maybe I needed to be broken. Maybe I’m a goddamn glow stick.”

Steve stared at her for a moment, apparently slightly shocked by her outburst. Then he spoke.

“What’s a glow stick?”

Darcy felt the righteous anger disappear at the question and she deflated somewhat.

“You don’t have glow sticks yet, do you?” She asked.

“Uh… no?” Steve sounded entirely unsure.

“Well,” Darcy sighed, sitting back calmly, “You’ll just have to trust me when I tell you that was an excellent metaphor, and you wish you were a glow stick, too.”

Steve seemed distracted by this for a moment but refocussed quickly on the real issue.

“Billie,” He was so gentle with her, so infuriatingly understanding, “Please, let me help you. I hate seeing you hurt like this. If you could just tell me what you need to do here, maybe I can help.”

“I can’t,” Darcy sighed, “And you can’t. It’s too big and complicated and messy to explain why. But trust me, Steve, I will find a way to fix this. I promise.”

She knew things were still terrifyingly beyond her understanding and control, she knew that the fate of the world was still in her inept hands. She knew she would keep having nightmares and panic attacks. She knew she would probably hit more strangers in the streets when they surprised her. She knew that the Darcy Lewis she’d always seen herself as was fading away, falling apart, going into hiding, while she sat here.

And she knew that she couldn’t go on like this anymore.

But she meant what she’d said. Being broken wouldn’t stop her.

The next day, she hobbled into work and asked Mr Fernandez for a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one seems harder to summarise than the last one. Mostly there was just a lot of talking so I can't easily give an emotionless summary. It's kind of entirely emotions. But I'll try in case there's anyone who can't read the details.
> 
> SUMMARY - Bucky took Darcy to the Rogers'. Mrs Rogers confirmed that the kind of injuries she had weren't super treatable at the hospital anyway. Everybody tried to convince Darcy to call the police. She had a bit of a breakdown over what did happen and what almost happened. Eventually, Darcy agrees to talk to the police, and decides it's time to stop waiting for Pinstripes to attack. 
> 
> The next day, she hobbled into work and asked Mr Fernandez for a gun.


	16. The Best Defence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally caught up on comments! In celebration (and because it's going to be a busy week so it's either now or not until Friday) here's another chapter for you.
> 
> I don't know about you, but I've got 3 more working days until I head off for the holidays. Sadly, I've got about 8 days worth of work to do in that time, but other than that I'm pretty excited to have some time off. I'm hoping that the extra time during the break will let me knock out a chunk of this story. If I manage that, then I might just consider increasing the pace that I'm posting chapters. So send along all the encouragement and I'll see how much I can write in the last little bit of the year.

Mr Fernandez didn’t ask any questions.

Darcy supposed the bruises on her face and neck and the way she couldn’t quite stand up straight was all the answer the old man needed.

He nodded silently, gave her a price she knew was way below normal and told her to come back in three days.

When she tried to point out that she was meant to work that day, he’d given her a look that stopped her in her tracks.

“Go home,” He told her firmly, “Three days.”

Darcy didn’t try to argue. To be honest, she’d been dreading trying to stay upright all day.

She didn’t go home, though. She went to the police station.

Detective Fraser had come to the Rogers’ apartment the previous evening shortly after Steve had called him.

They’d told him how she had been dragged, without warning, off the street. That it had been the same man who had threatened her with a gun weeks ago. That Bucky had scared him away, but they didn’t know where he went.

Darcy begged him to find the man, to help her, to keep her safe. She still didn’t admit to knowing him, and she could see the wary looks both Bucky and Mrs Rogers were giving her when she told her story, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t need their approval to do what needed to be done.

Today, her visit to the station had purpose. She waited at the front desk while someone went to find Detective Fraser.

“Miss Theodore,” Detective Fraser shuffled over to with his best approximation of a sympathetic expression, “You should be resting at home. Didn’t Nurse Rogers say you could have dizzy spells for days? We can’t have you fainting in the streets.”

Darcy allowed her hands to tremble and the anxiety she’d been pushing back all day to surface.

“Detective Fraser, how can I stay at home when that man could be anywhere?” Darcy reached out and clasped his hand in hers, “Please, tell me you have some idea where he is, that you have a plan to find him. I know you can find him.”

Detective Fraser puffed up importantly, “Of course, my dear, we have several avenues to pursue. We’ve produced some posters with the sketch you helped us with and we’ll be distributing them throughout the area. It’s only a matter of time before we track him down, before someone identifies him.”

“Oh, thank you, Detective,” Darcy paused, worried she might be overselling the damsel act, but Fraser seemed to be enjoying it, so she pressed on, “It’s such a relief to know that you’re on the case. Is there any chance I could get a copy of that poster? I’d feel so much safer if I could warn the people around me who to look out for.”

Ten minutes later, Darcy sauntered out of the police station with three copies of the drawing of Pinstripes, the promise that a police officer would drive past her home twice a day looking out for him, and a doughnut.

Darcy marched purposefully down the street towards her next target. Her eyes swept ceaselessly over her surroundings, checking reflections in every window for shadows behind her, watching every alleyway for ambush.

She had to stop three times along the way to rest when her head spun, and her stomach twisted. She didn’t have time for this. She needed to be acting, she’d wasted too much time already.

At the third stop she found a bench and sat, fighting the urge to close her eyes. She felt exhausted, her head was pounding, and she was having trouble focussing around her.

“Pull it together, Lewis,” She whispered to herself. She needed to get this done, but it wouldn’t do her any good to pass out trying.

It took several minutes for her head to stop spinning enough that she could stand again, and she pushed herself up and started moving. She was so close to her destination now, though getting back home again after might be a challenge. Maybe she should have taken up Detective Fraser’s offer of a ride home, but she really didn’t want the police knowing where she was actually going now.

She pushed herself slowly up the stairs to the third floor, clinging to the banister the whole way. Exhausted, she took a moment in front of the door to gather the energy she had left and lay out her argument in her mind. Finally, she reached out and knocked, waiting for the one person who might be able to help her end this.

Mariana opened the door with a raised eyebrow.

“You can’t possibly need another one already,” The other woman stepped aside, gesturing Darcy inside.

She entered the apartment and waited for the door to close, offering at least an illusion of privacy surrounded by the paper-thin walls of this place.

“That’s not what I’m here for,” Darcy looked at Mariana, nerves getting the better of her now that she was here, “I, um, I need your help.”

Mariana huffed out a laugh, “Yeah? And just how much are you offering for my help?”

Darcy shook her head and instantly regretted it, reaching out blindly to grasp the wall nearby as pain shot through her head, “I don’t think I can pay you for this. I mean, I’d pay a lot, but I don’t think you can take it.”

“In my line of work, it’s not wise to offer anything free of charge,” Mariana advised.

“What I’m asking,” Darcy sighed, “I get the feeling it would be worse, in your line of work, to be accepting money for it. Discretion is kind of key in your business, so you can’t afford to offer information for any amount of money.”

She could practically see Mariana’s walls go up.

“I don’t deal in information.”

“Exactly,” Darcy agreed, “That’s why I’m not offering a deal. I’m asking for help. And I know you might say no. Hell, I know you’ll probably kick me out and tell me to never come back but…”

Darcy sighed, exhaustion and fear bringing tears to her eyes. She tried to hold them back, tried to remember how she was planning on explaining this, but it was all too big, too important, too indescribable. She needed to stop running, she needed to end this.

To do that, she needed to find Arthur Carrington.

“I need to find someone,” She told Mariana, eyes closed, not wanting to see the other woman’s expression, “Someone who would have needed to obtain false papers sometime in the last few months. You can get that kind of information.”

“No.” Mariana answered firmly, “Now get out.”

Darcy looked up to see the woman pointing at the door, gaze steely and unyielding, “Mariana –”

“No,” Mariana interrupted her, “You said already, discretion is the most important thing in my business. I don’t talk about any clients ever. If I do, I won’t get any clients again. There is nothing you can offer to make that worth it.”

“I told you, I’m not offering anything,” Darcy pushed away from the wall, reaching up to pull at the scarf that she’d wrapped around her neck despite the heat, “I know you can’t sell information to a client. So, I’m asking you to give it to a friend, to lend a hand to someone desperate, to please, _please_ , help me.”

She dragged the scarf free and tilted her head so the bruises and scratches it had been concealing were clear.

“I need to find him,” She whispered with a tiny sob, “Before he finds me again.”

The anger faded from Mariana’s face and she collapsed to the sofa. She dropped her head to her hands for a moment, and Darcy hoped the brutal honesty might have worked. That it might not matter that she couldn’t remember her well planned speech.

But the look on Mariana’s face when she looked up at her told Darcy everything she needed to know.

“I’m sorry,” Mariana said sincerely, “Truly, I am. But there are people who would kill me if I sold out a customer. Even if there wasn’t any sale involved. I can’t help you.”

Darcy felt her shoulders drop at the finality in Mariana’s tone. She couldn’t think of anything to say that might change the woman’s mind, anything to offer that could change things.

“Right,” She heard her voice falter over the whisper, and took a deep breath to steady herself, to pull herself back together. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. This may have been her best shot, but it wasn’t her only option. She’d just have to find another one.

She straightened and gathered herself together, winding the scarf back around her damaged throat.

“Right,” She repeated, and offered Mariana a professional nod, “Fine. Had to try.”

She turned to leave and then stopped. With a shrug, she turned back, pulling a sheet of paper from her bag and holding it out to Mariana.

“I understand your position, but just in case you change your mind, I’d appreciate if you’d take this. You should keep an eye out for him anyway. He’s incredibly dangerous.”

When Mariana didn’t reach out for the poster, Darcy placed it on the table beside her. Maybe Mariana would burn the thing without even looking at it, but maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d look, maybe she’d remember, maybe she’d think about it.

Darcy certainly didn’t have anything to lose from trying.

Without another word, she left the apartment, made her way down the stairs, and exited the building to the street. She took one moment to stand, feeling the breeze ruffle her skirt, the sun seep into her skin. She remembered how those things made her feel alive and free just weeks ago.

She didn’t get any joy from them now. Just more evidence that she was failing. She should have been back with Jane by now, back to the dark, deep cellars of Hydra where her best friend was waiting for her to save them.

Darcy sighed and moved away down the street, keeping an eye out for a taxi. She knew she should walk at least a way first, so no taxi driver could pinpoint where she’d come from, but her head ached, and her vision spun, and she couldn’t pretend to be okay right now.

Just chalk it up as yet another thing Darcy Lewis couldn’t do well enough.

-

The taxi dropped her off outside Steve’s apartment building and she was halfway up the flights of stairs to his place when she remembered that no one would be home and she didn’t have a key.

She let herself drop unceremoniously to the steps, eyes closing and head falling back to rest against the wall.

She should have thought of that before coming here. She should have thought of that hours ago, when she’d left here. She’d been given strict orders by Mrs Rogers, and then Steve, and then Mrs Rogers again, to stay in their apartment all day resting. One of the neighbours’ children had been tasked with running the message to Mrs Benthelwaite and to Mr Fernandez that she wouldn’t be able to make it out due to a head injury, and Darcy had gotten the stubborn Rogers’ glare from both sides as they insisted that she needed to rest.

Technically, Darcy hadn’t promised anything, but she’d certainly allowed them to believe she was agreeing. She hadn’t been feeling well enough to argue the point, so she’d just remained quiet and generally agreeable.

She’d waited until they’d left for work before hauling herself up and heading out herself. She’d thought she could run her errands and make it back before they realised she’d gone.

And only now, a floor and a half from success, was she seeing the flaw in her plan.

She couldn’t keep failing. She needed to be better than this. They needed her to be better.

Darcy tried to keep the tears from gathering in her eyes; she couldn’t afford to be this emotional anymore. She’d already decided that. But the exhaustion, the dizziness, the headache, and the overwhelming weight of failure dragged at her. She couldn’t hold them in.

“Dammit, Billie,” She turned away from the familiar voice, trying to hide her tears, her weakness. She heard Steve sigh above her and then his gentle hands were pulling her up from the stairs, “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

She resisted. She couldn’t fight much, but she knew she could fight this. Pinstripes was too strong, too smart, too prepared; but Darcy could take down Steve Rogers. She could stop him from forcing her up from these uncomfortable steps, stop him from dragging her to the privacy and warmth of his home, prevent him from offering her safety and solace.

“Billie!” Steve gasped out in exasperation as she yanked her arm roughly from his grasp. She shoved him back and he stumbled down a step.

Darcy froze in terror. She stared at him as he stood in front of her, frustration on his face. She stared at her own hand in horror, seeing him stumble back, his feet missing the stair, falling, twisting, breaking.

She stared up at him, standing solid above her.

She could have killed him. Everything she’d done to protect him, and she’d come closer than Pinstripes ever had to hurting him, to killing him.

“Steve?” She gasped out a sob, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t… I can’t…”

Steve shook his head with a sigh and reached out for her again. She flinched back, afraid to touch him now, but he ignored her response and grabbed her arm, struggling to pull her up, straining to take part of her weight as he slung her arm over his shoulder and lead her up the stairs.

Darcy wanted to push him away, wanted to scream at him to leave her alone, to keep his distance, to look after himself instead.

But his voice was in her ear, telling her it was going to be okay; and his arm around her waist wasn’t just holding her up, it was holding her together.

Her fingers were gripping at his jacket like it was her only tether to life, and she couldn’t make them release, couldn’t disentangle herself.

Tears were still seeping silently down her cheeks, and she turned into his shoulder, burying her face in his warmth, breathing in his scent.

All she wanted was to hold onto him and never let go. All she wanted was to curl inside his sinewy strength and let him protect her. All she wanted was to stay here, to believe that he could keep her as safe as he whispered that he would.

She believed he could do it. He was a hero after all, right to the core.

Not like her.

She pulled away as they got through the door. She stumbled over to the sofa and sat on her own, wrapping her arms around herself, tangling her fingers in her own jacket.

She couldn’t have this. She couldn’t be this. She needed to be stronger, better, smarter. She _had_ to be.

When she felt him settle beside her, she shifted away, turning slightly, hunching her shoulders away from his comforting touch. He pulled his hand back, receiving her message loud and clear that she didn’t want him to touch her.

For a while, they sat in silence. Darcy waited for him to ask where she’d been, what she’d done. Braced herself for his disapproval or for his support. Both would be hard to bear right now.

Instead, he sat, silent and undemanding. Just there, refusing to leave her on her own.

It was almost harder to bear, because it was exactly what she needed.

Dammit, why did he have to be such a good person? Why did he have to be so understanding, so perfect, so _Steve_?

Why did he have to make her world… better.

As the minutes passed, Darcy’s breathing evened out. She felt the cold determination she’d had earlier returning. That was good. That was better than the fear that she couldn’t process and the other, somehow more terrifying, emotions that she couldn’t _let_ herself process. Numb was better.

She wiped at her face, smearing away tear tracks and drawing a mask of calm over her features.

“I should get home,” She announced, moving to stand.

“What? No,” Steve stood beside her, hands reaching out to her without touching, respecting her need for space, “You’re in no shape to be walking out there now. You barely made it here. At least wait for Ma to get home so she can check you again. And you know Bucky’ll be by to see how you’re doing.”

Darcy dropped her head, pushing her emotions back further to focus on logic. She did feel pretty terrible, and it had been a struggle getting here. Pinstripes could be out there waiting for her, and if she hadn’t been strong enough to fight him yesterday then she certainly wasn’t now. Plus, she would never be able to convince Steve to let her walk home alone, and she really wasn’t in a state to protect him right now.

There was only one person who would actually be safe walking her home.

“Okay,” She agreed, sitting back down, “We’ll wait for Bucky.”


	17. No More Ms Nice Time-Travelling Bodyguard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy whatever you choose to celebrate at this time of year! Whether it's Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, solstice, New Year, just making it through another Tuesday, or all of the above, I hope it is/was a great one for you.

Darcy was quiet through the evening. She held onto the emotional distance that she’d managed to claw back. When Mrs Rogers asked how she was feeling, she answered with clinical accuracy; when Steve tried to coddle her, she responded with polite indifference.

This was merely another necessary step in achieving her goal. Nothing more. These people weren’t her family, she wasn’t here to make friends. She was here to save lives. End of story.

Mrs Rogers insisted on feeding her before letting Bucky escort her home, even though Darcy knew they had to be running low on ration stamps. She’d have to see about replacing some of the food.

That wasn’t emotional, she told herself, just logic. She wasn’t meant to be here, so they were meant to have the food she was consuming for themselves. It was just keeping the balance of how things were meant to be.

When the Rogers’ finally released her, she gave in to Bucky’s insistence that she hold his arm on the walk home. He was worried about dizzy spells, and she was just too exhausted to argue.

Also, she was having dizzy spells.

She didn’t let him start up a conversation, though, keeping her answers terse and to the point when he tried.

“Look, I’m sorry I got mad yesterday,” Bucky finally announced after the fifth time she deflected his questions and ignored his attempts to rile her up by flirting, “I was just scared. I’m worried about you. Can you blame me for that?”

“You shouldn’t,” Darcy told him calmly.

“Yeah, I know I shouldn’t have gotten mad. That was stupid and not helpful,” Bucky sighed.

“No,” Darcy corrected, “You shouldn’t worry about me. I’m not meant to be here, and what happens to me doesn’t really matter.”

Bucky stared at her with utter confusion, “What are you talking about?”

Darcy just shook her head. She didn’t want to explain, and she couldn’t be bothered deflecting.

“No,” Bucky pulled her to a stop, staring down at her in concern, “Tell me what you meant by that.”

“It doesn’t matter, Bucky,” Darcy huffed out, exasperated, “Just leave it.”

“How can I leave it?” He asked, his grip on her arm keeping her from walking the rest of the way home by herself, “I’m _worried_ about you.”

“Don’t be!” Darcy shouted, tearing her elbow from his grasp. She gestured at her face, at the poorly concealed marks there, “It’s all just bruising. Nothing to worry about.”

“Bullshit.” Bucky growled. “You don’t make sense. Nothing about you makes sense. And every single part of it is worrying.”

Darcy shook her head, “I don’t care if it makes sense to you; this is how it has to be.”

She turned to shuffle slowly towards home.

Behind her, Bucky let out a frustrated growl and she tensed as she heard him catch up to her. But when he reached her, he just took her arm and continued to help her along.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head at her.

“You do realise how stupid that sounds, right?” He asked harshly, “It’s just bruising because we got lucky. And the way you’re acting like it’s nothing to worry about is exactly why I’m worried. You’re not handling this well.”

“Whatever,” Darcy replied dismissively, “It’s my trauma; I can handle it however I want. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

Apparently, Bucky didn’t know what to say to this, walking her the rest of the way to Mrs Benthelwaite’s in silence.

He helped her up the stairs but stopped her before she could unlock the apartment door.

“You weren’t the only one there, Billie,” He reminded her, expression sombre, “You ever think I might need to talk about it?”

Darcy turned away, unable to meet his gaze. She pushed away the guilt, hiding the tremble in her voice.

“You’ve got plenty of other people to talk to,” She spoke to the door knob, “Don’t waste your time with me.”

Without giving him time to respond, she pulled the door open and disappeared into the apartment. She pressed her back to the closed door, dropping her head back to rest against the wood.

This was about priorities. This was about life and death. This couldn’t be about friendships or support or compassion. It wouldn’t be easy to push them aside, but it had to be done.

She’d wasted too much time on those things.

-

Darcy stood on the footpath, staring up at the building that had become so familiar so quickly.

Two days ago, she’d have been up those stairs already, knocking on the door and inviting herself in for breakfast.

Today, she just needed a moment first.

She knew what would be waiting for her up there; the warmth and welcome that she’d always found inside. There would be support and understanding and care.

She wasn’t sure she could face it.

She’d spent most of the night awake, playing through the options in her mind, the many ways that things could have fallen apart already, the ways she could have destroyed the future.

The decision had been made already. She knew what she had to do. Out here, alone on the side walk, it was clear. And the previous night, when Bucky had confronted her and yelled, she’d been able to hold onto that resolve easily.

But what lurked in the building in front of her would be harder to stand against, harder to deflect. If she wasn’t prepared, it could knock all her walls down in an instant.

Compassion was damn hard to guard against.

Above her, the door opened, and she knew she’d stood too long.

Steve spotted her as soon as he stepped outside. He frowned as he made his way down the stairs towards her.

She couldn’t even pretend that she’d just arrived; it was obvious that she’d been standing here a while.

“Billie,” Steve spoke with surprise, “What are you doing out here?”

“I –” Darcy hesitated, wishing she’d come up with a plan for how to deal with this. She shrugged, “We always walk together.”

She turned to start walking down the street, trusting that Steve would fall into step beside her as he always did.

“We don’t need to walk together when you’re still recovering,” Steve pointed out, “That seems unwise.”

“I feel fine,” Darcy replied smoothly, not caring to assess whether or not it might be true. “I don’t want to stay locked up at home.”

“Well, alright. But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t come up,” Steve pressed.

“I just –” Darcy shook her head, “I’m sorry, Steve. I told you that I wouldn’t make a very good friend for you. You should have believed me.”

Steve stared at her in confusion for a moment.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, “You’ve been a great friend. You’re always here, without fail. You’re amazing at listening and you give the best advice. You make me laugh, even when I’m feeling the worst. You’ve never promised anything you didn’t follow through on. What on earth makes you think you’re a bad friend?”

“I will be,” Darcy told him, “I need to be. I was right the first time, I can’t afford to have friends here.”

Steve took a moment to process her words, walking quietly beside her.

“You’re wrong,” He finally replied, voice quiet but certain, “You’ve got reason to be afraid, and I’m sure there are a million different things going through your mind right now, but you’re wrong. And you don’t get to decide for me. I am your friend, Billie, and I’ll keep being your friend regardless of what you choose to do.”

Darcy swallowed back the lump in her throat, focussing on what was at stake.

It was just words, she told herself, he could say whatever words he wanted, but it wouldn’t make them true.

“You’ll come around,” She told him grimly.

He huffed out a laugh, “Doubtful. You do remember that I’m known for being stupidly stubborn, don’t you?”

“This isn’t a fight you can win,” Darcy shot back, exasperated, “It’s only going to hurt you.”

“And there you go trying to protect me, like a great friend would,” Steve countered.

They reached his work and stopped, turning to face each other with equally determined expressions.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Darcy told him.

He shrugged, “So have I.”

“Fine,” Darcy ground out between gritted teeth.

“Fine,” Steve raised an eyebrow at her, then shook his head and turned to go into the building.

Darcy closed her eyes for a moment, wishing that had gone better.

“And Billie,” Steve’s voice called her from her thoughts. He was standing on the steps of the building, looking back at her, “For the record, I’ve never walked away from a fight just because it would hurt and I couldn’t win. And I don’t plan on starting now.”

With that, he turned and went into work.

She probably should have seen that coming. She knew him well enough to know that the argument she’d offered wouldn’t go far. But it was the only one she had. If only he had any sense of self-preservation.

“Goddamn superheroes,” She muttered as she turned to walk away.

-

Her next attempt went equally poorly. As did the one after that.

It probably didn’t help that she kept showing up to walk him to work and then home and to anything he invited her to. But she’d tried to stop engaging when she was with him, focussing instead on her job. She constantly swept her surroundings for signs of a trap, forcing them to cross the road in random places, or walk pressed close to the walls, or stop suddenly without reason.

Steve and Bucky both tried to get her to talk about what was going through her head at those points. They tried to tell her it wasn’t healthy, wasn’t necessary.

She ignored them.

When they asked questions, she changed the subject or pretended not to hear. When they confronted her about the contradictions between her words and her actions, she gave vague, unclear responses. When they begged her to let them help her, she simply said no. No. No.

On the third day, when she returned to work, she found Mr Fernandez waiting for her outside the shop. He led her over to a car parked nearby and opened the driver’s door.

“Get in,” He directed, pointing.

Darcy glanced at him in surprise, but followed his direction. While he made his way slowly around to the other side of the car, she ran her hands over the large steering wheel and inspected the buttons and dials.

“Do you know how to drive?” Mr Fernandez asked as he settled into his seat with a groan.

Darcy considered the mix of familiar and unfamiliar things in front of her. She thought about how she hadn’t driven anything that didn’t have power steering since New Mexico.

“No,” She answered.

He talked her through the process, and they made their way through the neighbourhood and out to a less populated industrial area. Darcy followed Mr Fernandez’ directions to a warehouse by the river.

A middle-aged man was waiting for them, who introduced himself as Burt, Mr Fernandez’ son-in-law. He handled the shipping and receiving side of their business, he explained, and they sometimes used this warehouse for that purpose. But there was nothing coming in today, so it would make an acceptable shooting range.

After escorting them around to the back of the building, Burt took her over to a small table and showed her the gun they’d procured. He pulled it apart, taking the time to explain each part, its name, purpose and how to clean it. He made her put it together and take it apart herself a few times before he was satisfied.

Ammunition got an equally thorough run down and it was late morning before he finally set her up, gun loaded, staring down the barrel at the makeshift targets that Burt had set up.

They spent hours shooting. Darcy’s aim moved closer and closer to the target as she became somewhat accustomed to the feel of the gun in her hands.

Mr Fernandez merely watched from a chair set up to the side, periodically offering tips.

Burt eventually declared her passable, and handed over the gun, cleaning tools, and a large box of bullets.

They drove home in silence. Darcy didn’t know what to say to the old man who had offered so much more than she’d asked for.

When they got back to the shop, Darcy turned off the engine and turned to look at her passenger.

“Thank you,” She told him earnestly.

He nodded in acknowledgement, “We look after our own.”

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed, “We do.”


	18. I Can Fall Apart if I Want to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you, but my holiday has ended up full of people with not a lot of time for writing. They're pretty good people, so I can't complain. Despite this, I think I'm going to try increasing the pace that I'm posting this story. It might mean you'll have to wait a little later on, but at least that will be in a logical spot (i.e. where I'm planning to break the story into two parts anyway). So, I'm going to attempt posting twice a week now, but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> Content Warning: In this chapter, Darcy is still dealing (not super well) with the attack from a couple chapters ago. There is mention of the holocaust and other atrocities around WW2.

Normal changed for Darcy once again.

She still made sure she arrived to escort Steve almost any time he went out in public. She still went to dinner at the Rogers’ apartment and worked for Mr Fernandez. She still looked up for pianos at every corner.

She started calling the police every morning to see if there had been progress on finding Pinstripes. She started carrying the gun everywhere she went, not caring about what laws she may be breaking.

She stopped trying to explain her unusual behaviours. She stopped worrying about how people would perceive her. She stopped laughing and joking with Steve and Bucky. She stopped talking much at all.

She stopped sleeping.

Hours of every night were spent awake, staring out at the street from her bedroom window, tucked to the side where she wouldn’t be seen from outside. She expected Pinstripes to attack at any moment. But she also didn’t know what to expect at all.

She’d understood his plan and his pattern before, but now she wasn’t sure. He could come for her first, or he could go after Steve again. He could keep trying for quick and easy, or he might take time to plot something that she wouldn’t be able to stop.

She couldn’t let her guard down ever.

It was six days before she saw him again, and it wasn’t what she was expecting. He didn’t come out of the shadows in the night, or jump from a doorway as she passed. He wasn’t attacking or stalking.

He was just walking. Just making his way from one unknown place to another as she did the same on the other side of the road.

They spotted each other at almost the same moment, neither expecting it. She saw the way his eyes narrowed, could practically hear the dark ideas that ran through his head.

Darcy ran. She’d run from him so many times, usually dragging a wheezing Steve Rogers behind her.

Not this time.

His eyes widened in surprise when she started barrelling towards him. She was fumbling in her purse, trying to get the right part of the gun into her hand without pulling it out and alarming the other pedestrians.

Pinstripes took an instinctive step back, glancing around at the street, assessing the situation. Then he ran.

A part of Darcy thrilled that he was running from her this time, but mostly she just needed him to stay there so she could catch him, so she could stop this.

But he didn’t, and Darcy was stuck on the wrong side of a busy road.

By the time she got across the street to where he’d been, he was long gone.

She continued in the direction he’d run for a few blocks, desperate to find him. Then the adrenaline wore off and she realised she could be running right into a trap.

The sudden fear rooted her to the spot, unable to move forward or backwards. She could feel the panic rising, edging out everything else.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move.

“Miss,” She heard a voice echoing from a distance, “Miss, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” She spoke instinctively, then said it again, focussing on the words, the sounds, “I’m fine.”

She stumbled back from the lady reaching out to her, then turned and started walking away in the opposite direction.

“I have to be fine,” Darcy whispered desperately.

-

Darcy poked morosely at the potatoes on her plate.

_You’re fine, you’re fine_. _You have to be fine._

The words looped through her head, as they had done for the past 2 hours.

After failing to catch Pinstripes, she’d made her way, trembling, back to where she’d been heading to begin with. She was too late to meet Steve at work and had spent the entire walk to his apartment imagining the ways that Pinstripes could have doubled back and gotten there first, all the places along the way he might have been able to ambush the unsuspecting asthmatic.

She’d counted the seconds until his door opened, picturing murder scenes waiting inside.

_You’re fine, he’s fine. He has to be fine._

He’d grinned when he opened the door. Pure, honest joy at her simple presence.

Her heart ached at the sight. He didn’t know that there was no joy left here.

Mrs Rogers was already home, along with one of her friends, Mrs Wright, and her daughter Martha, who Mrs Rogers had apparently decided should be friends with Darcy. They were moving around the kitchen, discussing work and friends and rations and life. They tried to include her in the conversation, but Darcy couldn’t find any words to offer, any stories to tell.

She was fine. Nothing but fine.

Bucky had shown up just when dinner was being served, never one to miss a meal.

They’d eaten. They’d talked. They’d laughed. They’d frowned in concern.

Darcy didn’t.

She couldn’t focus on any of it. She didn’t know what they were saying or why. And she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“What about you, Billie?” Steve’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“I’m fine.” Darcy answered quickly.

Bucky snorted, “Yeah, you seem fine. Very convincing.”

“I am fine.” Darcy insisted, the tremor in her voice undermining her declaration.

“If you’re fine,” Bucky raised a challenging brow at her, “Then I’m sure you’ve been perfectly capable of keeping up with what was going on around you tonight?”

Steve sighed, “Bucky –”

“No,” Bucky cut him off, “You heard, she’s fine. And people who are fine can handle a little bit of confrontation. So, why don’t you tell us your thoughts on what we were just talking about?”

Darcy stared at him, cold anger in her eyes. He didn’t know anything. She would find a way to be fine. Even if it killed her.

“Well, I think,” Martha spoke slowly, deliberately, “That this decision to re-institute conscription is wise. The war keeps growing, we don’t want to be unprepared if it comes here.”

Darcy blinked. Conscriptions were starting already? How much time did that mean she had left before Steve would be able to look after himself better than she ever could?

“They should find ways to increase volunteers,” Mrs Rogers disagreed, “No man should have to lay down his life without a choice.”

“But what is the choice here?” Steve put in, “Stand by and do nothing while people are fighting and dying? Wait until the fighting comes here and there’s no other alternative anyway?”

“We should find a way to stay out of it completely,” Bucky said with an edge of bitterness, “Shoring up our defences is one thing, but war only ever takes lives and breaks men. The generals in their offices make decisions and idiots like us come home broken or don’t come home at all. Is any fight really worth that?”

“Yes,” Darcy’s voice shook, the words tumbling out without thought, “Yes. You have no idea. It’ll be years before you learn, but it’s started already. First degradation, then torture, murder. The concentration camps have started; the death camps will too. And we sit here worrying about how to pay our bills when people are fleeing for their lives. Jews, Romani, homosexuals, anyone that doesn’t conform. Refugees so close to freedom are being forced to go back, where they’ll die horribly. You can’t even imagine. So many people.”

Darcy stared blindly towards where Steve and Bucky were sitting, unable to see them through the tears spilling from her eyes, “There have been other wars worth fighting, but none more than this one. Genocide is always, always worth fighting against. And this genocide is – Fuck.”

Darcy dropped her head into her hands, the full horror hitting her fully. God, the atrocities, the terror, the desperate, meaningless deaths – it was all happening right now. Some of it had barely even started yet. How could she sit here, doing nothing to stop it?

But how could she possibly do anything to stop it? She couldn’t even stop one measly assassin, she couldn’t possibly stop the vast monstrosity that was the holocaust.

“Fuck,” She whispered again. Darcy raised her head, pressing the tears out of her eyes with the heels of her hands, but froze when she saw the five people staring at her in shock. “Oh, _fuck._ ”

She’d just told them about the future. She’d just announced things she had no reason to know, to people who had no right to hear it.

“I have to go,” Darcy shoved herself up from the table and dashed out the door. Ducking back half a step on the way to grab her purse, she fled.

She made it half a flight down the steps before she stopped, dropping to sit in the stairwell. She dropped her head into her knees and struggled just to breathe through the tears, the pain, the guilt.

She wasn’t fine. She wasn’t close to fine. She didn’t know what fine was anymore, or how she could ever get back to it again. She was in the middle of World War _fucking_ Two and people were dying by the thousands all over the world daily. People were doing amazing and terrifying things to survive, or to save others.

She couldn’t even make it through a dinner party without breaking down.

She felt so lost, so out of control. She had no idea how she was meant to put herself back together or how to live in this world she’d found herself in.

And the only people who were willing to help her were back there, probably freaking out or telling each other how crazy and stupid she was. Finding some explanation to tell the total strangers who’d witnessed her collapse.

Steps rang out above her and Darcy jumped. She turned, desperate for anywhere she could hide, any way she could just vanish from here and never have to face any of this again. With no escape possible, she buried her face again, wrapping her arms around her head like closing her eyes could make her invisible.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t.

The footsteps moved around the corner of the staircase and hesitated, then continued down to her. A warm weight settled silently next to her, while the second set of shoes continued a few steps further to stop just below her.

She didn’t need to open her eyes to recognise them, didn’t need to look to know the curious, concerned, ever-so-slightly angry looks that would greet her.

So she didn’t look. She kept her head down, let the tears fall, let the sobs shudder through her body.

And they let her, her silent, but never absent guardians.

As the tears ran dry and the sobs eased into hiccoughs, Darcy realised that they weren’t really silent. Bucky was fidgeting and Steve kept clearing his throat or making small noises like he was about to speak. She imagined they were staring at each other, holding a wordless conversation around her, each daring the other to be the one to talk to her.

She sniffed and raised her now painfully dry eyes, catching a glimpse of the meaningful glare Bucky was giving Steve before he blinked it away to look at her.

“So, Billie…” Bucky started but clearly had no idea where to go next and just shook his head and sighed instead.

“Is it true?” Steve asked her quietly, seriously.

“Don’t ask me that.” Darcy ordered quickly, “Don’t ever ask me, please. I can’t talk about the future, and you don’t want to know it.”

“And when you say the future,” Bucky said slowly, “You mean, _the_ future.”

“I can’t talk about it.” Darcy’s voice was hoarse, aching, “I can’t talk about any of it. I know it’s fucked up. I know I’m fucked up. I’m not okay and I probably never will be again, and I have no idea what I’m doing or how to make this all just fucking _stop_. And I can’t talk about it. Please don’t ask me to talk about it.”

“You can’t not talk about it, though, Billie,” Steve told her gently, “You’re falling apart, and I won’t just sit and watch you fall apart. Don’t ask me to do that.”

Darcy peered at Steve from the corner of her eye, taking in that stubborn look that lead him into so many fights. Instead of answering, she turned and wrapped her arms around him. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and let his warmth and empathy and _goodness_ seep slowly into her.

“You’re some of the best friends I’ve ever had,” She spoke into his collar, the weight of his arms around her grounding her more firmly than she’d felt in weeks, maybe months, “You’re such good people, and such snarky idiots, and I know I shouldn’t drag you into this, I shouldn’t let you be near me; but you make everything a little less terrible. And I don’t know how to face this alone.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky spoke up from behind her, “We can help you.”

Darcy pulled away from Steve to look up at Bucky and offered a watery smile. “You do. You always help me.”

-

Once Darcy had pulled herself together, and after a brief argument about who got which job, Bucky walked Darcy home while Steve went back to his own apartment to come up with some kind of excuse for her behaviour.

It had taken some convincing to get Steve to stay behind, but eventually Darcy had convinced him that it wouldn’t be right for him to leave his own dinner party without saying goodbye.

“You always do that,” Bucky pointed out as they walked the quiet street, “You make Steve stay home, and make me walk you back instead.”

“It’s just logical,” Darcy defended, “He’s already home, you’re not.”

“But you always insist on that part, too; seeing him home.” Bucky countered.

Darcy’s mind raced, trying to find something to explain that. Coming up blank, she got defensive.

“What’s your point?” She asked bluntly.

“Nothing,” Bucky shrugged, his eyes astute, “Just… you still don’t make sense.”

Darcy sighed, no answer for him, “Yeah, well, none of this does.”

“You want him to be safe,” Bucky told her without question.

Darcy glanced at him, frowned, “Do you have a problem with that?”

Bucky watched her for a moment and then dropped a casual smile over his uncertainty, “Maybe I should be insulted. You don’t seem to worry about seeing I’m safe.”

They reached Darcy’s apartment building and she stopped, turning to face him.

“You don’t…” She gestured vaguely towards him, unsure how to explain without actually explaining anything, “You’re not…”

“I’m not Steve,” He said.

Darcy glanced away and scoffed, “Clearly.”

“The first time I walked you home,” Bucky reminded her, ‘You told me that you two weren’t an option.”

“What?” The unexpected shift in conversation threw her, “I- It’s not. I’ve told him it’s not. I’ve made it very clear –”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky interrupted, “He’s my best friend; we do talk to each other. I know that he knows it’s not an option.”

“Oh,” Darcy blinked, “Well… good.”

“But I’m starting to feel like you might not know it.”

Darcy froze, trying to find any response to him, trying to find any way to dispute what he was saying.

“I’m not, I mean, I do know.” Darcy shook her head, “It’s not an option. I have rules!”

“Rules?” Bucky gave her a look that told her this made her seem crazier than anything else he’d seen from her, “How’s that working for you?”

Darcy sighed, “Not great.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, “I can tell. I just want you to remember what I said that night, because what you’re trying to do is hurting my friend.”

Darcy dropped her head hopelessly. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m doing everything I can not to hurt him.”

“I wasn’t talking about Steve,” Bucky reached out and gripped her shoulder tightly before stepping back, “Look after yourself, Billie.”

Darcy watched him turn and walk away, disappearing around the corner of the street.

She let herself into the apartment and made her way up to Mrs Benthelwaite’s. Making a quick excuse to the disapproving older woman, Darcy barricaded herself in her room. She pulled open the third drawer of the dresser and pulled out the false bottom she’d had Mr Fernandez help her make.

With trembling hands, she pulled out Carrington’s notebook and flipped to the page of rules.

She’d added to it over time, when things occurred to her or became an issue. There were 27 rules there now. Darcy went straight to number four.

It was too late for rule four. And too late for rule five too.

Which just left rule six.

Darcy clutched the book tightly, trying to imagine what rule six would look like.

No. She wasn’t strong enough for rule six right now.

Instead she grabbed her pen and scratched frantically at the page. When she was done, she looked at the new rules.

_4- Don’t let Steve fall in love with you._

_5- If Steve falls in love with you, don’t let him act on it._

_6- If Steve tells you he loves you, break all applicable hearts quickly._

Somehow, those rules didn’t make her feel any better.


	19. Predictably Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm... I'm sorry. I know things have been pretty heavy lately, and a lot of people have commented that these characters have been through enough and deserve a break. But this chapter... is not... that. The world they've found themselves in is not a great one, and I'm trying to make a story that is plausible (despite the time-travel and superheroes) and complex. Much as I'd like to just give them all a holiday, that isn't realistic storytelling. The problems they're facing aren't going to solve themselves. 
> 
> And sometimes, other problems that weren't expected but should have been might crop up too.
> 
> Content Warning: This contains talk of serious, terminal illness.
> 
> I'm sorry if you didn't see this coming, but we've always been heading here.

Darcy tried to find some kind of balance again.

She had to accept that her attempts to be professional and focus completely on the mission had not been a resounding success. Blurting the future out to total strangers kind of proved that wasn’t working.

But it wasn’t something she could just turn off and on.

She still couldn’t sleep. She still felt scared every time she went outside and she looked for ambushes at every corner.

It didn’t help when she found them.

Twice more in the next week, Darcy spotted Pinstripes waiting for her; on a crowded bus that she had intended on boarding and lurking in an alleyway that Steve would have walked past. The first time she’d erred on the side of caution in the face of the crowded, confined space and had skipped the bus.

When she saw him in the alley, though, she threw caution to the wind. The street was unusually empty, and she seized the opportunity. Without pausing to think about what she was doing, she dragged the gun from her purse, pointed it in his direction, and fired.

The bullet hit a wall several metres away from him, and Darcy walked closer, trying to line up the shot better. Carrington didn’t wait for her to try again. He disappeared down the alley he’d been hiding in and, when Darcy got there, he was gone.

Seeing a young mother round the corner ahead of her with a pram, Darcy quickly shoved the gun away in her bag and walked on in the direction she’d been going, as if she hadn’t just shot at someone on the street, as if she hadn’t just tried to kill someone, as if her hands weren’t shaking and her blood wasn’t running cold right now.

That night, when she did finally drift off to sleep, she had nightmares that she’d had better aim.

The police also gave her multiple leads to follow up. They passed along the more reliable tips that they’d gotten, always with the advice to avoid those areas. Darcy did the opposite. She staked out the places where people had said they’d seen someone who looked like the police sketch of Pinstripes.

She’d been particularly optimistic about one area where he’d been spotted by a large number of witnesses. She spent three days lurking in various disguises hoping to find him. On the third day, she spotted the source of the sightings; a man walking his dog through the park. He looked remarkably like the picture, though he was at least half a foot shorter that Carrington.

She’d given another picture to Mr Fernandez and asked him to check with his contacts. Surely Pinstripes would need access to the less legal sides of the city, too. So far, though, they hadn’t turned up anything useful.

Which all meant that she was still no closer to finding him and ending this.

Darcy sighed as she trudged up the steps to Steve’s apartment. She was completely exhausted, entirely disheartened, and all she wanted was to curl up under a dozen blankets, order in pizza, and binge something on Netflix.

Or, the 1940s version of Netflix, listen to radio serials.

Unfortunately, Bucky had made her and Steve promise to go out with him tonight. He’d gotten a date with a girl he’d been eyeing for a while, and she refused to go out with him alone. Bucky had practically begged Darcy and Steve to join them and make it a double.

He’d cut her off when Darcy tried to argue that it couldn’t be a double since she and Steve weren’t dating. He didn’t care what lie she told herself, he stated, as long as she was there.

Darcy knocked on the door to the Rogers’ apartment. She was running late and had half expected to meet Steve on the stairs, but when the door opened, he wasn’t even pretending to be ready to go.

“Billie,” Steve seemed frazzled, “I tried to call your work but they said you’d already left. I don’t think I can go tonight.”

“What? No.” Darcy moaned, “I don’t want to go either. Don’t make me face down disappointed Bucky alone.”

“Bucky’ll understand,” Steve answered seriously and gestured over his shoulder, “It’s Ma. She’s not doing well.”

Darcy peered past him and spotted Mrs Rogers in the chair closest to the fire, she’d clearly fallen asleep sitting up, blankets piled around her.

“She’s sick?” Darcy asked, recognising the fear lurking in the back of Steve’s gaze now that she knew to look for it, “Is she going to be okay?”

Steve shrugged and met her eyes with helpless uncertainty, “I don’t know. She’s been so much better this year, but now the TB is back again worse than before.”

“What – TB?” Darcy stared at him in shock, “Like Tuberculosis, TB? TB again? TB is a thing people get _again_?”

Steve frowned at her, “How do you not know about Tuberculosis? What kind of world do you live in where it’s not common knowledge?”

Behind him, Mrs Rogers breath hitched, and she started coughing in her sleep, pushing herself up suddenly to cough deeper.

“A pretty good one,” Darcy whispered, eyes getting damp as she watched the woman she cared so much for cough her lungs out.

“Well, yeah,” Steve told her sadly, “Sometimes TB gets better, but sometimes people catch it again. So, I can’t go out tonight. I need to stay here with Ma.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mrs Roger’s voice was husky from the coughing fit, but firm with decisiveness, “There’s nothing you can do for me tonight. Go have fun with your friends, Steve, I’ll still be here when you get home.”

“But, Ma –” Steve began, but Mrs Rogers interrupted him.

“No,” She told him firmly, “I’m just going to go to bed early. No reason for you to be here and it’ll be good for you to get out and have some fun. Go. Now.”

“Ma, I –” Steve tried again.

“Go.” She met his eye with a stern gaze, pointing out the door. Mrs Rogers kept the glare firmly on her son until his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Fine,” He agreed, “But I’ll be home early.”

Mrs Rogers accepted the compromise gracefully, “As long as you don’t wake me up.”

Darcy stood silently by the door, watching Mrs Rogers, while Steve shuffled around gathering his things and putting on shoes.

Tuberculosis.

She knew so little about it.

She knew it was frequently fatal, though movies hadn’t really made it clear if it was always deadly or just usually. She knew it could take a while to kill, judging by the same movies.

She knew that at some point between now and her birth it would become so treatable that the majority of people would only know what was shown in movies.

She didn’t know how it would be treated, though.

It wasn’t a vaccine, she was certain, or surely it would have been on the list with polio and measles. Was it a bacteria? Would it just be treated with antibiotics? Any antibiotics, or did it need special ones? Would treatment vary depending on how long someone had been sick, how bad it was?

And how did you make antibiotics? She knew they often came from moulds, but she doubted feeding someone mouldy bread would suffice.

Mrs Rogers coughed again, and Darcy winced.

She vaguely remembered that Steve Rogers had been an orphan by the time he signed up for the army. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but suddenly it was sitting right in front of her, hacking into a towel.

Sarah Rogers was going to die, and Darcy hadn’t even stopped to think about it the entire time she’d been here.

Darcy had no way to save her, no idea how to help, no clue what TB even was. The thought made her feel sick with frustration, helplessness, fear.

And relief.

She recognised the feeling for what it was, and it only made her feel worse. But the relief didn’t go away.

Because she had no idea what long term effects the death of his mother would have on Steve, but something like that always left scars. She couldn’t guess how the world could be different, how he could be different, if he didn’t go through this now. What if he didn’t join the army? What if he wasn’t willing to put a plane in the ocean knowing his mother was there, waiting for him to come home?

There were too many variables, too many little things that could change the whole world.

Her job here was to keep the future whole. So, she couldn’t save Sarah Rogers.

Darcy didn’t know if she’d have been able to sit back and let it happen if she knew how to save her. She didn’t _want_ to know if she could do it. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who could let someone, anyone, die when she had a way to help them.

Even if that’s what the world needed.

So, she was glad - darkly, miserably glad – that she didn’t have to choose.

“Ready?” Steve asked, drawing her from her dark thoughts.

“Right, yes,” She turned to follow him into the hallway, sparing one more glance back at Sarah Rogers. The woman who had been so caring and supportive to her since she’d arrived, the woman who always made her feel welcome.

Another person she wasn’t going to try to save.

Darcy blinked back tears and started quickly down the hallway. She couldn’t bear the thought of staying there a moment longer, faced with the prospect of watching a woman she’d grown to love die.

Instead, she’d spend the evening with the man she’d grown to love, who was faced with the prospect of watching his mother die.

Sometimes, there are no good options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts that Darcy didn't know: Tuberculosis is a bacteria and is treated with antibiotics. But not just any antibiotics, there are special TB specific ones. There are also some antibiotic resistant cases cropping up, so... hopefully they can find some new treatments before that increases.
> 
> To anyone who is or has dealt with a sick loved one, the next few chapters might be challenging for you. Look after yourselves, and remember that you are not alone.


	20. Unchanged Throughout the Eons

The next weeks passed in a blur of sorrow and pain and hospital visits.

Mrs Rogers had gotten worse quickly, and it was only 12 days after Darcy first learned that she was sick before she was admitted to the hospital.

Darcy visited every day. She accompanied Steve whenever she could, taking the time to plot out the most ambush-ready spots in the hospital and distribute the picture of Pinstripes to the regular nurses.

She came when Steve couldn’t, too. She showed up alone, when she knew she could be using the time to pinpoint Pinstripes.

Because what did that matter?

Sarah Rogers was dying and Darcy couldn’t save her. But she didn’t have to die alone.

And for the first time since she’d arrived in this time, Darcy felt certain in what she was meant to be doing.

This world was so different from the one she’d grown up in. People cared about different things, asked different questions. They were so ignorant of some things and so much more knowledgeable about others.

The rules were different, the dress codes, the social expectations. She regularly messed up every-day interactions to the point where everyone thought she was a foreigner. Which she was, really. She fumbled with money, misinterpreted colloquialisms, struggled to put on the overly complicated underwear. Everything was unfamiliar here.

Except this.

Grief was exactly the same beast it would be decades from now when she would wake up to learn her parents had died. Love would remain constant until Darcy Lewis sat in another hospital to watch her grandmother slowly die of something that couldn’t be stopped.

Darcy begged sugar from neighbours to bake surprises for Steve and his mother and her nurses, like she’d done when her flatmate’s brother had been diagnosed with cancer. She showed up whenever she had a spare moment with a pack of cards or tickets to a movie or any other distraction she could find, like she’d done for Jane when Thor had disappeared and broken her heart. She held Steve, solid, unwavering, and without judgement or expectation, just as she had held other friends so many years in the future.

With or without an excuse, with or without a distraction, with or without words, she showed up, every single day.

Because this was something she understood. Sometimes life hurt like a son-of-bitch and there was nothing that could make it better, but the presence of friends and blatant displays of constant love, compassion, and support made it a tiny bit less horrible.

But just because it was familiar, didn’t mean it was easy. Every day, Darcy watched Sarah fade in front of her eyes. The woman who had been so warm and bright was now painfully cold and pale. Every day, Darcy watched Steve fall deeper into despair and hopelessness, the certainty that nothing could stop this settling like an anvil in his heart.

And every day, she thought about the things she couldn’t do.

It was a horrifyingly long list.

Part of her thought it should be easier than the last time she’d sat in a hospital like this. Afterall, she’d only known Sarah Rogers for a matter of months and she wasn’t related to her at all. She didn’t rely on the woman for a home and family, she wasn’t staring down the barrel of foster care and total isolation.

But the knowledge that there was a cure for this weighed on her constantly. The fact that she didn’t know what the cure was didn’t help. Every time Sarah coughed, Darcy imagined her getting better. Every time Steve cried at his own helplessness, she could picture him hand delivering treatments to his mother twice a day, counting tablets to make sure no dose was missed. She could see them healing, as she watched them both fading before her.

She wished she’d studied medicine instead of poli-sci. She wished she’d taken chemistry so she’d know how to make antibiotics, or painkillers, or, hell, she’d take hallucinogens at this point if it would make this not be real.

Except if she’d taken chemistry or pre-med or anything useful, then she wouldn’t have taken an internship in the New Mexico desert and she wouldn’t be sitting here now.

Unless, of course, she actually had made some powerful hallucinogens and everything since Thor was a figment of her imagination.

She wished she could pretend to believe that. But this was all too real.

And surrounding everything else, present in every thought she had and every decision she made, was the fact that this was what was meant to happen, what had to happen.

The future had never looked so dismal, and fighting to keep it that way had never felt so hard.

“What are you doing here?”

Darcy looked up from the knitting that she wasn’t even pretending to be doing to find Sarah watching her from the hospital bed.

“Where else would I be?” Darcy asked, voice quiet.

“At work?” Sarah suggested, “At home? Anywhere else? You know they limit visiting hours here for a reason. I don’t want you catching this yourself.”

“We’re all following their instructions carefully,” Darcy promised, “We’re taking every precaution to avoid getting sick. But one of those precautions is making sure Steve doesn’t stay here longer than he ought to, and he doesn’t want to leave you alone.”

Sarah scoffed and then coughed, turning away until the coughing fit subsided, “You know, I never intended to raise a boy with so little care for himself. I’m glad you’re here to look out for him now.”

“I’ll do everything I can to keep him safe.” Darcy promised.

“I know,” Sarah nodded.

They sat in silence for a moment, and Darcy focussed back on her needles, trying to remember where she had gotten up to.

“You’re good at that,” Sarah noted as Darcy moved through the row she’d abandoned, “Are you going to make something for my grand babies?”

“Your what now?” Darcy looked up in shock, fumbling the needles.

Sarah laughed at her reaction.

“You still need time, I know,” She waved off Darcy’s shock, “And with what you’ve been through you should take the time. But don’t let fear or pain stop you from living.”

“I can’t – That’s not –” Darcy stammered, cheeks flushing so warm she felt like she must be fluorescing.

“You will,” Sarah said with confidence, “You love my son, and you make him happy. What more could a mother want for her child?”

Darcy shook her head slowly, “I can’t be what he needs, what he deserves.”

Sarah shrugged, “But you’re what he wants. The rest is just semantics.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” Darcy insisted.

“It always is,” Sarah told her easily, “Love is always complicated and messy and painful. And it’s always worth it. And it makes all the rest of the painful, messy, complicated parts of life worth it, too.”

She reached out and grasped Darcy’s hand, her skin was cool and parchment dry and Darcy never wanted her to let go.

“Life goes on,” Sarah said, “And you need to go along with it. You will be happy again, I promise.”

Darcy blinked at the tears welling in her eyes and gripped Sarah’s hand close. Darcy couldn’t have the life Sarah was imagining for her, wasn’t even sure she would want it, but there was nothing to be gained from telling Sarah that. Let her imagine. It was a lovely life she was dreaming, and Darcy could dream it too, if only for a little while.

“I’d knit everything.” Darcy said with a smile, “Hats, booties, cardigans, toys. Everything.”

They sat and talked for another hour, until the nurses came to tell Darcy it was time for her to go. She squeezed Sarah’s hand one last time before making her way to the door.

As she pushed through the door, Sarah called out in a weak voice.

“Thank you, Billie. You’ve been so good for all of us, and it means so much to me that you’re here.”

Darcy looked back and smiled, “I was going to say the same to you.”

The world would move and change. Society shifted and transformed. But since the beginning of time until the universe ended, this would always remain the same. People going through hell would need this same kind of support millennia from now, as they had done eons past.

Food, companionship, hugs, silence, stories, laughter, tears, time. The things that made life what it was, that made humanity beautiful. When death came to call, no matter the century, those would always be the things that mattered.

So Darcy went home and she baked. She told jokes, and read aloud stories. She walked with Steve through the streets and with Sarah through the hallways of the hospital. She cried and she yelled. She slept over at Steve’s apartment so he wouldn’t have to be alone, ignoring any disapproving stares the next morning; or she went home alone, crying herself to sleep in the dark so that she could be the steady, unbreaking support that her friend needed.

She loved; with everything she had to spare, she loved and she lived.

She knew it might not last for long. The future was a terrifying, uncertain place even for someone who’d been there. It was possible that none of them would have much time here. Even the most optimistic outlook wouldn’t give them much more time together.

But they had right now. They lived right now, and Darcy would make sure they made the most of whatever time they had left.


	21. Things That Cannot Be Escaped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the comments. I'm sorry I haven't managed to get back to anyone recently. I've been finding it tricky to keep my head in the part of the story I'm trying to write now if I spend too much time focussing on the part of the story you're reading now, and the bit I'm writing is being annoying and contrary. So, I am not going to be replying to comments for a little while until I can get past the annoying writing bit I'm in. I do read every comment, and I love hearing your thoughts and responses. They really means so much to me. Hopefully, I'll be back to responding to things soon enough, but I'm going to prioritise both writing and publishing the actual story for now.

The call came on a Tuesday afternoon.

Darcy was in the stock room at the shoe makers, carefully checking an incoming shipment to confirm that it included what it was meant to contain, rather than what the customs form said it held.

Marking her place on the list, she reached over to answer the ringing phone.

“Sarah’s gone,” Bucky’s tired voice over the line in piercing clarity, “She died this morning.”

Darcy dropped the pencil, wishing she’d misheard, not knowing what to say.

“Oh,” She managed.

“Listen,” Bucky continued, “We’re short staffed today and I’ve taken extra time so much in the last weeks, I can’t get today off work. I’m meant to be starting a shift in an hour, but I don’t want Steve to be alone right now. Is there any chance you could get away from work early?”

“Yeah,” Darcy nodded at the phone, moving to gather things up, “Yeah, I’ll figure something out. Is he home now, or still at the hospital?”

“He’s heading home now,” Bucky replied, “Should be there soon.”

“Okay, I’ll go right there. I’ll look after him.” Darcy assured him.

“Thanks,” Bucky sighed, “You don’t know how glad I am to know you’ll be there.”

“Of course I’ll be there,” Darcy paused and then added, “Are you okay?”

Bucky sighed, “Hasn’t really hit me yet. I’m just worried about Steve right now. I’m kind of hoping I can get through my shift before it hits me properly.”

“I know what you mean,” Darcy agreed, “But you can’t always control what you feel or when you feel it.”

“Yeah, that’s what worries me.” There was a clicking noise on the line, “I gotta go. I’ll come by Steve’s after work, okay?”

“I’ll see you then.” Darcy replied, dropping the receiver back in its cradle when the line clicked off.

After a quick explanation to Mr Fernandez, Darcy left the shoe maker behind. She made her way straight to the Rogers’ apartment, aside from one quick stop along the way.

“I brought alcohol,” Darcy announced as soon as the door opened, holding up the bottle of budget whiskey.

“Billie,” Steve stood in the doorway, not welcoming her in like he usually would, “You didn’t have to come.”

“Of course I did,” Darcy told him like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I’m not going to let you be alone right now.”

Steve leaned his head against the door, still holding it half closed.

“I already told Bucky, I want to be alone.”

“No,” Darcy replied gently, “No one wants to be alone at a time like this. If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. If you don’t want me to talk, no problem. You don’t have to play host and take care of me or keep up a conversation. You don’t have to be strong and silent, or broken and crying, or even awake. Just be whatever you need to be, and I’ll just be here.”

Steve stared at her for a moment and then stepped aside to let her in.

She followed him into the kitchen in silence. If he didn’t want words, then she could give him quiet.

Steve pulled down a couple of glasses and put them on the table, letting Darcy fill them generously from her bottle.

They sipped without speaking for a few minutes before Steve put his glass down heavily on the table, leaning his weight on the worn wood.

“I don’t think I can be here,” He whispered, voice torn, “She’s everywhere in here and I can’t stand it. But I can’t leave either, can’t abandon what’s left of her even for an afternoon.”

Darcy studied him for a moment.

“Okay,” She answered softly.

She moved over to the small living area and pulled a couple of cushions and blankets from the sofa. She loaded them into Steve’s arms and picked up the whiskey and the glasses herself.

“Come on,” She gestured with her head towards the door.

“Where are we going?” He asked as he followed her out into the hall to the stairwell.

“Somewhere here but not here,” She answered as she took the stairs up, “The roof.”

“I don’t think we can access the roof.” Steve told her.

“There’s always roof access,” Darcy informed him, “You just have to find it.”

When they reached the end of the stairs, she looped around the top floor until she spotted a promising door. After fiddling with the cheap lock for a moment, she pulled the door open to reveal a closet space with a short ladder up.

Darcy went up first, depositing the alcohol and glasses and then leaning back down to grab the cushions and blankets from Steve. By the time he’d made it up the ladder himself, she had a decent picnic set up for them; provided you could call it a picnic when there was only hard liquor and no food.

“This is… strange,” Steve looked around them in curiosity as he settled on the sofa cushions.

“Everything is strange when you’re grieving,” Was Darcy’s answer, “Normal is the most absurd and unnatural thing when it’s missing someone that’s meant to be there, so strange can be kind of comforting. You can’t be expected to know what to think or feel when you find yourself suddenly picnicking on a roof that wasn’t designed for picnics. So you can just think and feel anything and it must be right.”

“Did you do something unusual when your parents died?” He asked.

“Too much,” Darcy admitted, “Moved three states away to live with my Grandma. There was almost nothing that I could hold onto of what had been normal before.”

“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Steve’s voice broke, and Darcy pulled him into a hug as he broke down in tears. She clung to him as he shook and let her own tears fall.

She couldn’t really believe it either. Despite knowing it was coming, despite watching it happen day by day, she still didn’t really believe that it had happened.

Sarah Rogers had been so full of life just a few short weeks ago. And then she’d started to lose that vitality so quickly and yet so horrifying slowly.

And even though Darcy had watched every minute of it, a part of her had still somehow hoped it would turn out differently.

“I’m so, so sorry,” She found herself whispering, or perhaps sobbing would be more accurate, in Steve’s ear, “I wish I could have saved her.”

“You couldn’t have known what would happen to her,” Steve pulled out of her hug, a fleeting hint of accusation in his eyes, though he spoke with certainty.

“I didn’t –” Darcy broke off, she hadn’t known exactly, she hadn’t realised in time, but she had known something, “Even if I’d known I couldn’t have stopped it.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied sadly, “There’s no cure for TB.”

“There will be,” Darcy took another large swallow from her glass, shuddering slightly at the burn of the alcohol. She’d avoided it here, not wanting to risk being unprepared if Pinstripes showed up, but today she didn’t care. “It’s going to be super treatable someday. So treatable that it’s going to become so uncommon, that people like me have no idea how they even treat it. There’s a way to stop it, and I have no fucking clue what it is.”

Steve stared at her for a moment and then took another drink himself.

“Ma would’ve loved to know that.” Steve said sadly, “She fought that disease in herself and others for so many years, she’d love to hear that someday it would be beaten. Even if it isn’t in time for her.”

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed, sniffing back tears, “I know she would have said that. But it doesn’t make it any better right now, does it?”

“No,” Steve whispered.

They stayed up there for a few hours. Drinking and talking, laughing and crying. Steve told stories about his mother, and about his long dead father. Darcy talked about the amazing way Sarah had welcomed her into their lives without question.

And when that got too heavy, they talked about other things. They talked about sport, work, the best way to cook broccoli. They sat together in silence, not talking about anything. And slowly the sky got darker and darker, and the whiskey bottle got emptier and emptier.

Darcy was eyeing up the last inch of liquid when Steve spoke up again.

“What would you change?” He asked, “You always say you can’t change the future, but if you could change one thing, what would you change?”

“I dunno,” Darcy answered automatically, tilting the bottle side to side as if that would change how much was left.

“’Course you do,” Steve slurred, “All you think about is the future. You must’ve thought about it.”

Darcy took a swig of alcohol straight from the bottle. Her head was spinning and the question drifted through her whirling thoughts until it hit something solid.

She handed the bottle off to Steve and pushed herself, stumbling, to her feet.

“Hey!” She shouted up to the sky, arms flung wide, “Hey, Heimdall! Tell Odious Odin and Friggen Frigga that it’s time to sit Loki down and tell him he’s adopted! Loads of people are adopted! It doesn’t have to be a big deal!”

She stared up at the sky for a moment longer, and then collapsed back down to the cushions next to Steve. She turned her head to catch his eye.

“You’d tell someone they’re adopted?” He asked, confused.

Darcy shrugged against the rough roof, “You’ll understand someday. Or you won’t. Maybe I’ve already fucked up the future beyond repair.”

“I dunno about the future, but you’ve made things better now. I don’t…” Steve hesitated then pressed on in a rush, “I don’t know how I’d have gotten through today if you weren’t here.”

“Probably sober?” Darcy suggested.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed with a laugh, “And that sounds really hard, so thanks.”

Darcy turned on her side and reached out to grab Steve’s hand, “You’d have gotten by just fine without me. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Steve laughed, “You must not know many people. I can barely lift the kettle when it’s full.”

“Who cares what you can lift?” Darcy scoffed, “I’m talking about the kind of strength that really matters. I’m talking emotional fortitude. You care so much about everyone around you, Steve, about people you have never and will never meet. You care about justice and fairness and looking out for people. You just _care_ , Steve, so much more than most people do. And you make it look easy, but I know how hard it can be to put other’s ahead of yourself. That takes real strength.”

Steve stared at her for a moment and Darcy felt her cheeks get warm.

“You would know all about putting others first.” He murmured, reaching out to brush hair from her face.

They both jolted when the hatch in the roof banged open and spun to see Bucky stick his head out.

“I’ve been coming to your place for years and I never knew this was here,” He announced as he clambered out onto the roof, “How long have you been up here?”

“This long,” Steve picked up the whisky bottle and waved it at Bucky.

“Yep, that would do it,” Bucky stepped over and took the bottle from Steve. He held it up to check how much was left, then drained the lot in one gulp. “You know, I’ve been waiting downstairs for hours trying to figure out where you might have gone and when you’d be back. I’d still be down there if I hadn’t heard you shouting about… something lucky?”

“Loki,” Steve corrected, shifting over to makes space for Bucky on the sofa cushions.

“Right, of course,” Bucky nodded, “Because who doesn’t shout about Norse gods all the time.”

Steve shot an appraising look at Darcy, “Not really a real Norse god, though, right?”

“Uh-uh,” Darcy shook her head and mimed locking her lips, “Can’t say. First rule of Fight Club.”

“Is that a club where people use mythological code names and fight each other?” Bucky guessed.

Darcy held her hand up with her fingers just a centimetre apart, “So close.”

Steve laughed at them, then his face turned solemn.

“Hey, thanks,” He said seriously, “Both of you. Thanks for being here. You were right. I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Bucky assured him, settling further onto the cooling roof.

Darcy gripped Steve’s hand, but struggled to find something to say. Bucky’s words were comforting, but they were a lie, and Darcy had lied too much to Steve and couldn’t bear to lie again tonight.

Instead, she settled on the only truth that had any hint of solace.

“We’re right here.”


	22. Worth Living For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed that I put in a chapter count. FAIR WARNING: That's just for part 1. Personally, I always feel annoyed when I get to the end of something that I am expecting to be standalone and discover it's going to need a sequel. Even if it's an excellent story, if I'm not prepared for things to be left unresolved I get frustrated. Maybe no one else has that problem, but just in case, now you'll know what to expect. There will be an ending, a solid stopping point, a reason for splitting things where I have. But there will also be a couple of things that will not be resolved until the next part of the story. That part is still very much a work in progress.
> 
> Also, anyone remember way back when I posted chapter 5 and wanted to say "You guys, this thing I've just written..." but it wouldn't make sense to you at the time? Well, if you were curious, that thing is in this chapter. Along with a bunch of other things, because this chapter ended up being a pretty long one.

The funeral was organised for the Friday afternoon.

Apparently, in her final weeks Sarah had made what arrangements she could, so there was little left to plan. For the few things left to be decided, Bucky and Darcy stood by to help Steve through it. They tried to work out their schedules so that Steve would never have to be alone, though he lost patience with them over that pretty quickly.

The neighbourhood rallied around as well. It had become clear over the weeks she was sick that Sarah Rogers was loved by so many people. Neighbours who had never acknowledged Steve before were showing up with food, offers of help, stories about that time when Mrs Rogers had helped them. The nurses who had cared for Sarah in her last days, and had worked with her caring for so many other over the years, came by frequently to offer their condolences and express their own devastation.

On the day, the small local church filled quickly with mourners. They were crowding into the seats and standing around the edges.

If Darcy hadn’t already known what a caring and generous woman Sarah was, this would have been all the proof she needed.

Darcy thought about the funerals she’d seen pictures of for celebrities and heroes. Memorial services that shut down cities and filled cathedrals. Where throngs of the rich and powerful would show up in their finest and blackest outfits to show their respects.

She glanced back at the small crowd filling the church.

While she could see that everyone there had done their best to be presentable, many of the outfits were on the other side of shabby. The wreaths were humble. The pine box at the front of the church was unremarkable.

But there wasn’t a single face in the crowd that wasn’t full of honest grief.

These people hadn’t just come to show their respect; they’d come to show their love.

Darcy reached out for Steve’s hand, twining her fingers with his. She tried not to think about the memorial service that would be held for him, just a few years from now, in this very city. There would be crowds of people, heads of state, flags and choruses and salutes.

She wondered if there would be anyone there who really knew Steve Rogers, who really loved him. She wondered if this same community would perhaps hold their own service, just for the people who remembered the man who would always jump to the defence of anyone in trouble.

She wondered if there was anyone left who remembered this Steve when Captain America came out of the ice.

She wondered what Sarah Rogers would have thought if she’d known what her son would become.

Pride, obviously, and love. But probably also fear that he would get hurt, maybe disappointment that he would miss out on so many simple joys, perhaps nostalgia for the son that she’d known.

And sorrow. If she’d truly known what her son would face, so much sorrow.

It was better that she didn’t know, that she wouldn’t know.

Darcy fucking hated knowing the future.

Throughout the service, tears poured silently down Darcy’s cheeks. She let them fall. This was the time and place for it. No one needed to know that while they all cried for one woman, Darcy cried for all of them.

She cried for Sarah Rogers who was kind and fierce and loving.

She cried for Steve and Bucky who were going to lose everything they’d ever known.

She cried for the young men around her now who would die in trenches or on beaches.

She cried for the people in concentration camps who had so many years to suffer through before freedom would come for them, if it did at all.

She cried for her grandmother, who still had so much life left before she would die just like this.

She cried for Jane, waiting, frozen and not yet existing, faithful that Darcy would save her.

She cried for herself, adrift in a time she barely understood and having now lost one of the only people who had cared for her here.

She cried for the things that would be lost, and for the things that she couldn’t allow to be lost, and for the price she would pay to see it through. She would give everything. She would give her whole life.

Darcy was surrounded, drowning in things that were worth dying for.

Holding fast to Steve’s hand, she let the full weight of everything overwhelm her. Because if ever there was a day for her to mourn the entire world, it was today.

Sarah Rogers had died. And Darcy Lewis had stood back and watched.

When the service ended, Darcy remained sitting, still crying silently. It wasn’t until Steve stood, hand still gripping hers, that she looked up.

Through her tears she could see a matching anguish on his face. Behind him, the priest was trying to usher Steve out, but Steve remained where he was, unwilling to relinquish his hold on her hand. When she didn’t move to stand, he bit his lip and loosened his grip slightly so she could pull her hand free if she wanted.

“Will you –” He began and then cleared his throat of the tears and tried again, “Will you stay with me?”

Darcy looked up at him, this man who had opened his whole life to her without hesitation. She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand reassuringly. She took a moment to focus on him, on the anchoring feeling of his hand in hers, the solid warmth of him securing her in the present.

She met his eye and for the first time let herself truly feel how much she loved him, without denial or guilt. He was her reason to stand up, her reason to stop crying and keep moving.

Darcy would give her life for Steve Rogers if she had to. But she hoped she didn’t. In this terrifying, bleak world that she’d found herself in, he was one of the few things she had worth living for.

She nodded at him and rose, sliding her hand into his elbow to walk with him out to the waiting car.

They made their way to the car provided to take the closest family to the cemetery for the internment. It was clear that Steve was feeling overwhelmed by the people; the polite well wishes, the outpouring of grief; and Bucky fell back, running interference while Darcy pulled Steve away from the other mourners, creating space for him as best she could. She kept her grip on his hand, hoping that her silent presence would be some comfort.

She almost missed the motion as she turned to see where Bucky had disappeared to. One moment the small crowd was a peaceful, welcoming mass; then, in an instant, Pinstripes appeared.

Darcy moved instinctively, the flash of reflected light from his hand all the warning she got.

She managed to catch his arm as he thrust the knife forwards, the blade biting into her wrist as she shoved it desperately away from its target. Pinstripe’s knee lifted and she braced herself as it collided with her side, focussing on keeping her grip on his arm firm.

Her gun was in her purse, but she couldn’t release him long enough to go digging for it. But if she could get control of his knife…

She wrapped her left hand around his, digging her fingers in under the hilt of the knife, trying to wrest it away from him. Her right hand still held his wrist, keeping it back, away from her or Steve, but also not letting him retreat. Not when he was finally within her reach.

He kneed her again, but she barely registered it, so focussed on keeping him here, on getting the knife.

Pinstripes jerked suddenly backwards, the motion tearing him from her grip. He stumbled back two steps, and Darcy stepped forwards, raising the knife that she’d held onto. Beside her, Steve stepped forwards, too, fists curled, ready to hit Pinstripes again.

Darcy hesitated. It was time. He was right there, and she had the knife. She just had to figure out what to do with it. Where was she meant to aim? How was she meant to move?

Pinstripes’ eyes flickered over the knife in her hand, and before she could take another step he scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the crowd as quickly as he’d appeared.

Darcy tried to follow, pushing through the shocked people. But hands kept reaching for her, shocked voices and concerned faces holding her back, asking what was wrong. There were too many people, and she couldn’t risk getting too far from Steve, not when it would be so easy for Pinstripes to double back and come at Steve again.

She heard the crowd around them talking loudly to each other, caught snippets of conversation that made it clear that no one had really seen what happened. It had happened so quickly, over before anyone else had realised it had begun.

They seemed to think that the high emotions had triggered a fist fight and she’d gotten caught in between. Steve’s reputation for getting in fights was mentioned a few times.

At least no one seemed to realise they’d just witnessed an assassination attempt.

Small favour. She’d have taken the stares and the questions if that was what it took to stop Pinstripes for good. But he’d escaped. Again.

She spun furiously back to find Steve right behind her, keeping pace with her chase.

“Why the hell did you do that?” She demanded, “I had him. If I’d just had a few more minutes I could have ended this. If you hadn’t knocked him out of my grasp -”

“If _I_ hadn’t?” Steve stared at her, incredulous, “What exactly do you think just happened? He almost killed you. Again. There is nothing on the planet that would have stopped me helping.”

“I had it under control,” Darcy ground out, clenching her fists despite the throbbing in her right wrist.

“Under control?” Steve shook his head at her, “Billie, he _had another knife_.”

Darcy opened her mouth to argue further, but the meaning of Steve’s words stole her breath.

Another knife. She hadn’t even looked at his other hand, she was so focussed on getting the knife she’d seen.

She suddenly realised that she was still clutching that knife, her own blood smeared along the edge. Shock and disgust caused her fingers to release and the knife clattered to the floor.

But she couldn’t leave it there, that would raise even more questions, so she ducked down to pick it up again, fingers trembling.

“What the hell happened?” Bucky appeared beside them as Darcy pushed herself upright, “Someone said you started a fight, Steve?”

“Not me,” Steve gestured at Darcy who couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze, not when she’d see clearly in his eyes how close she’d just come to being stabbed, to failing her mission, to failing him.

“What –?” Bucky began confused, but broke off as he caught sight of the blood on her sleeve. Understanding bloomed on his face, “Him again?”

“Can we get out of here?” Darcy asked instead of answering his question. She could hear the desperation in her own voice, but she couldn’t think about it now. She couldn’t let herself consider what had just happened and what had just almost happened.

But she’d _almost_ had him.

And he’d almost gotten her.

No. This was not the time or place to think about that. They needed to get out of this crowd, somewhere with less variables, somewhere she could have a minor breakdown without causing a bigger scene.

Bucky seemed to have the same thought as he looked at the crowd slowly dispersing around them.

“Well,” He offered, “Father Thomas said the funeral procession is waiting for Steve. Shall we go find the car?”

Darcy nodded agreement and moved to follow them. She tried to raise her hand to put pressure on the gash in her arm, and stared at the knife she still gripped. Not knowing what else to do with it, she slid the still bloody blade into her purse and hoped it wouldn’t cut anything. She pressed her now empty hand over the wound, grateful that the black cardigan she’d worn wouldn’t show the blood as much as anything else would have.

Bucky shepherded her and Steve out to the waiting car, clearly understanding that something had occurred that had shaken both of them severely. The priest attempted to scold them for holding up the procession, but Bucky just glared at the man as they passed.

Once the three of them had piled into the back of the car, and closed the priest out, Bucky turned back to look at Darcy, seated in the middle seat.

“So, what happened?” He asked directly, keeping his voice low so the driver wouldn’t hear.

“I – It was nothing,” Darcy said in a small voice that wasn’t convincing anyone, least of all herself.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Steve disagreed roughly, reaching out to pull her injured arm towards him gently, “It was that same man again, the one she calls Pinstripes. He came at her with a knife, with _two_ knives.”

“Okay, it wasn’t nothing,” Darcy admitted, feeling hollowed out and numb.

It was just too much. It was all too much. The funeral and the attack, the grief and the fear. She needed all of this to be over, but she had run out of ideas for how to do that.

And she’d had a moment today, but she’d hesitated. Again. Even though she knew, she _knew_ , that it would only get worse if she didn’t just kill him now. Even though she knew things would have been better if she’d killed him in that alley when they’d first landed. Still she hesitated.

Two pairs of concerned eyes watched her, and she distantly recognised the care in them. It didn’t matter now, though. She was all out of feeling, all out of ideas, all out of hope.

“God, it was –” Steve shook his head. Overcome by emotion, he waved his hand in a way that somehow conveyed the fear and pain and the _almost_ that they’d so narrowly avoided, “I don’t know how you can live like this. How many times has this happened since you arrived? How close have you come to… And still, every time, you step towards the danger. For just a second when he appeared, I thought he was aiming for me and I… I froze. I’m so sorry. Maybe if I’d reacted faster... Next time I’ll react faster.”

Darcy tensed at his words, trying to find a response that wouldn’t clue him in to the truth he’d just spoken in passing.

“Takes practice,” She told him, forcing a weak attempt at a smile onto her face, “That’s why they usually put people through training before sending them into things like this. Turns out learning this stuff on the job is a bitch.”

Bucky let out an odd huff of air next to her and Darcy turned to find him watching her speculatively. She frowned at him, about to ask why he was looking at her like that, but a guarded look dropped over his expression and he shook his head faintly at her.

“We’re almost at the cemetery,” Bucky changed the subject, “Are you ready for this?”

She wasn’t sure who exactly the question was directed at, but Darcy turned to Steve for his response.

He closed his eyes and took a shallow breath.

“No,” He breathed, voice edged with tears, “Not even close to ready. But what’s the other choice?”

Neither Darcy nor Bucky could offer any alternative, so instead they offered their hands. They each gripped one of his hands, holding him steady, present, supported.

-

The internment was a brief but emotional affair. There were more tears by the graveside and more words of love and sadness.

Throughout the ceremony, Darcy caught Bucky watching her with that same curious look he’d had in the car. A part of her wanted to ask him what was going on, but mostly she couldn’t bring herself to care.

She was wrung out of everything.

Darcy didn’t shed any more tears for Sarah Rogers, or for Steve, or for herself. She stood by, solid and unwavering, as Steve said his final goodbyes. And she walked with him back to the real world where lives kept spinning without noticing that this one life had ended.

On the way home, Steve tried to convince Bucky and Darcy that they didn’t need to stay with him, that he needed some space to himself, that he was fine.

They ignored him, walking him all the way back to his apartment building.

 “Reese,” A voice spoke quietly from behind them and Darcy jumped.

Mariana stepped from the shadows beside Steve’s building and gave a barely discernible jerk of her head that needed no interpretation.

“I’ll catch up with you,” Darcy told Steve and Bucky, waving for them to head up the stairs without her.

They both hesitated. She could see the concern in their faces, unsurprising given the events of the day.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, and Darcy could hear in his tone he would trust her judgement on this.

“Very,” She told him, and he nodded.

Steve pulled on Bucky’s arm, but Bucky didn’t follow his lead immediately. He kept watching Darcy, his gaze assessing. She realised that, unlike Steve, he probably didn’t know who Mariana was and would probably need extra reassurances.

But after a moment’s consideration, Bucky turned without a word and followed Steve up the steps.

Once they were out of sight, Darcy turned back to Mariana.

“What are you doing here?” She asked softly, glancing around for watching eyes.

“I saw what happened,” Mariana gestured at Darcy’s wrist, and Darcy instinctively drew it in to her side, “I saw what he did, what he tried to do.”

Darcy dropped her gaze to her feet.

She had no idea what to say. She barely knew what to feel. She was exhausted beyond measure and hope had dwindled down to nothingness. She didn’t know how she was meant to move forwards from here.

But forward was the only option she had.

“I can’t give information on my clients,” Mariana reminded her, “No matter what kind of people they are, I can’t breach that trust.”

Darcy nodded, “I know.”

“But he’s not my client.”

Darcy glanced up sharply, barely daring to hope.

Mariana nodded at her in confirmation, “It’ll take me a few days; give me until Monday. I’ll have to ask a few people, and I can’t promise they’ll have the answers. But I’ll try.”

Darcy felt tears rising in her throat again, distantly surprised that there were any tears left in her today. But this was a better reason for tears. Because suddenly, surprisingly, she was flooded with hope.

“Thank you,” She choked out forcing back the tears.

“Don’t mention it,” Mariana glared at her fiercely, “I mean that. Don’t ever mention it, to anyone. I don’t care who asks, you don’t tell them I did this. Make up an excuse when Steve asks what we talked about. Tell people you got lucky if this leads to something. Don’t mention it, ever.”

“Of course,” Darcy agreed without hesitation, “No one will know.”

Mariana nodded again and turned to leave.

“But you’ll know,” Darcy said before she stepped away, “And I hope you know how much it means to me.”


	23. Waiting to be Done Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still having trouble keeping my brain on the story I'm writing when I spend too much time thinking about the story you're reading, but I also still love getting all of the comments that I'm not currently responding to. Thanks so much to all of you for the lovely feedback <3<3

It felt like the longest three days of Darcy’s life.

She tried to focus on what was going on in front of her – being supportive to Steve, taking orders at the shoe makers, keeping an eye out for Pinstripes – but her mind was constantly drifting back to Mariana.

Was she following up with contacts now? Was she having any luck getting answers? Would this possibly lead somewhere when the police and Mr Fernandez’ smuggling community hadn’t?

And what would she do once she had the information? _If_ she got the information.

She’d have to act quickly, but carefully. She couldn’t afford to let this chance slip through her fingers.

But she couldn’t get her hopes up. Mariana might not be able to find anything, and then… well, then Darcy would need to find some other way to end this. She’d been here too long, she was too emotionally entrenched. She needed to finish the job and get out before she stretched history to its breaking point, before she lost the strength to stand by and let things happen.

By Monday afternoon she was pacing the shoe maker’s with anxious energy. She felt certain that whatever the answer was, this would change everything. Because if Mariana couldn’t find Pinstripes, Darcy was sure, then no one could. And Darcy would have to start seriously considering some of the more insane and suicidal ideas she’d thought about.

Like trying to negotiate with Pinstripes, or admitting to Steve that he was the target, or pressing the button to go back to Jane without dealing with Pinstripes and hoping they could find a way to come back again better prepared after.

All of which were really terrible plans, but Darcy had run out of any better ideas.

Darcy rushed to finish closing up the shop, speeding out the door as soon as she could.

Once she was on her way, her feet slowed.

The weight of the answer dragged at her, and suddenly she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to hear that her last, best hope was gone, to see the apologetic look on Mariana’s face. She dreaded what she would find when she arrived.

To put off the inevitable, and to ensure no one was tailing her, Darcy wound a complicated path to Mariana’s apartment. Though she moved slowly, her heart was pounding by the time she arrived.

With no other excuses left, Darcy made her way to the right door and knocked.

She waited, palms sweating, for the door to open. But when it did open, it wasn’t Mariana looking out at her.

“What?”

Darcy dropped her gaze to find Serena’s hard, calculating gaze watching her. It was slightly creepy and entirely depressing to see such a distrusting, experienced look coming from a child.

“Oh,” Darcy tried to push back her nerves, plastering a friendly smile on her face, “I’m here to see Mariana?”

“She’s out,” Serena answered with a glare.

Darcy felt her stomach drop in disappointment, “Oh, right. Do you know when she’ll be back?”

Serena narrowed her eyes, staring at Darcy in silence for a long moment.

Darcy fidgeted.

“I can just come back,” She said with a feeble wave, stepping away from the door.

“You’re Billie, right?” Serena asked.

“Uh… yes.” Darcy paused, turning to face the girl who made her feel more like she’d done something wrong than any teacher or social worker or boss ever had.

“What’s the other name?” Serena asked, assessing glare unchanged.

Darcy frowned, for a moment unsure what she meant, “Do you mean… Reese?” She asked

Serena nodded and then ducked away from the door for a moment. When she reappeared, she was holding out a small envelope.

“Mari said to give you this. Said you shouldn’t open it here.”

Darcy reached out with shaking hands and took the envelope.

“Do you know -?” She began, but Serena interrupted.

“Don’t know what it is, just to give it to you. Now I’ve done that, you can go.” Without another word, Serena slammed the door, leaving Darcy standing, slightly shocked, outside.

She glanced down at the unassuming envelope in her hands, desperate to tear it open now. But the instructions had been clear, she shouldn’t open it here. Mariana had already gone far enough out on a limb for her, the least Darcy could do was follow her request.

Tucking the envelope into her pocket, grip still tight on the coarse paper, Darcy turned and started down the stairs. Once outside, she started walking. She turned at a few random intersections, checking to make sure she wasn’t followed. When she was a safe distance away, she ducked into a small park and sat down on a bench.

Her hands trembled as she pulled the envelope from her pocket. It took her two tries to tear the paper open and pull out the single page inside.

There was just one line of writing, in handwriting far too precise to be natural.

It was an address.

An _address_.

Darcy let out a tense laugh.

She had an address. With this, she could find Pinstripes on her own terms. With this, she could finally, _finally,_ finish this.

Now she just had to make sure she was ready to kill a man.

-

Despite her desperate desire to go straight to the address and confront whatever was waiting there, Darcy took days to prepare. She couldn’t risk Pinstripes noticing her change of behaviour, and she couldn’t leave Steve unguarded when he was most at risk of attack, so she had to stick to the same patterns of walking him to and from work along unpredictable paths. With work during most days, she wasn’t left with much time to watch the address.

She was forced to sneak out late at night after everyone had gone to bed, or early in the morning before they woke up. Over the months that she’d been here, she’d pulled together the supplies needed for a couple of decent disguises, and she made use of them as she staked out the place.

Given the odd hours she was spending there, it wasn’t surprising that she didn’t see anyone coming or going over the first few days. She managed to get a decent lay of the land, though, making note of the entrances, the number of apartments, the ways that she could approach unseen.

But she still hadn’t seen Pinstripes for herself. She still didn’t know whether the address Mariana had provided was actually correct.

After three nights of watching without luck, she knew she needed to get there at a better time. She managed to negotiate a day off from work with Mr Fernandez and set to planning.

The morning of her day off, Darcy got up at the usual time. She helped with breakfast and got dressed in her work clothes. She met Steve at his front door and walked him to work. Then she doubled back by a roundabout route and slipped back into Mrs Benthelwaite’s apartment.

Her more convincing disguise waited for her, tucked out of sight underneath one of her pillows. Several minutes later, a grimy, fat man waddled out of her room wearing that most camouflaging of outfits – an official jacket.

She had stumbled across the large, worn jacket with the Post Office Department insignia at a second-hand store and had seized it immediately. On her belt, she carried with her some tools and supplies, having broken a post box the previous night that she thought she could pretend to fix for several hours if necessary.

Winding her way to the address once more, she set herself up across the street, one eye on the front door while she pretended to measure the damaged post box, prepared to wait all day to find out who lived there.

Less than two hours after she’d set herself up, the front door opened, and Darcy’s heart stopped.

Pinstripes walked down the steps.

It took all of Darcy’s willpower not to jump or freeze. Her hands trembled as she kept them moving around the post box, having completely lost track of what she was pretending to do. From the corner of her eye, she watched him make his way down the steps and then turn to head up the street.

Once he was out of sight, she let the measuring tape in her hands drop.

It was really him. He was really here. She could really, actually, end this.

She fumbled to pick up the dropped tape, glancing furtively around to take stock of the situation. There were a few people moving around the street, but not too many. With a bit of luck, the area would clear long enough for her to abandon her supposed task and go across to Pinstripe’s building instead.

It took almost 20 minutes, while Darcy sweated and played through a million possible options in her head, wondering where Pinstripes had gone and when he’d be back.

Finally, the street cleared enough for Darcy to risk scrambling to her feet and dashing across to the building she’d been watching. Ignoring the front door, she ducked down the side alley to the fire escape she’d spotted during her night-time prowls. There was a pile of discarded crates nearby which, once she’d shoved them into position and scrambled on top, was high enough for her to reach the bottom rung.

She pulled herself up the fire escape cautiously, peeking in windows before moving in front of them. She’d worked out which windows belonged to the apartment that Mariana had identified, and she counted her way up to the correct one.

Then she sat outside, as still and silent as she could, for five whole minutes.

She couldn’t see the front door from the fire escape, and she couldn’t be 100% certain that she’d counted the windows and worked out the angles properly. So she waited, watching for any movement inside, any sign that Pinstripes had returned or that some other unsuspecting person occupied the apartment.

There was no sign of motion and, after a while, Darcy had to admit to herself that waiting longer was higher risk than taking action.

But somehow this action was harder than she’d thought.

Despite having multiple fake identities, despite owning an illegal gun, despite working for a smuggling ring, Darcy hadn’t felt so much like she was breaking the law as she did now. She was about to break into someone’s apartment. No amount of innocent smiles and naïve confusion would get her out of this one if she was caught.

But she was beyond the point of laws and regulations. She was deep into the depths of the most absurd ethics parables. If it was right to pull the lever and send the imaginary train down the path with one person instead of five, then breaking a window to possibly save millions wasn’t even a question.

With shaking hands, she pulled out one of the towels that she’d shoved under her shirt to change her shape. She used the masking tape that she’d hung from the workman’s belt she wore and laid out a grid of the adhesive on the window, hoping that it would keep the broken glass stuck together and prevent it falling loudly to the floor. Pressing the towel over the window to limit sound further, Darcy took a breath to prepare herself, then slammed her elbow against the glass.

There was a small crash as the glass broke and fell inward. She dropped the towel to find that the tape had been mostly useless. Damn.

“I bet the internet would know how to do this better.” She muttered quietly to herself as she pulled at the shards still sticking out of the window, using the towel to protect her hands from the sharp edges.

Once the window was clear enough, she ducked through into the dim apartment and drew the curtains behind her. She dropped quickly to hide behind a nearby sofa, listening for any indication that someone had noticed her entry.

Patience, she reminded herself. Patience was key to stealth and espionage.

She waited a full five minutes, crouched in the dark, before she shifted slowly and slid out into the room.

At a glance, it was unremarkable.

Moving at a crouch, she made her way quickly through the one-bedroom apartment, checking every door to make sure the space was empty.

In the built-in closet off the bedroom, she found the proof she needed that she was in the right place.

The wall was covered in photos, articles, names and dates. She straightened as she stared into the small space, trying to spot recognisable notes, wondering if she needed to memorise the whole thing.

It wasn’t just Steve on the walls, though he was there plenty, as were Darcy and Bucky. There were others, too. An article about Hydra was in one corner, names circled and annotated throughout the piece. There was a corner full of details about an airport in some town Darcy had never heard of. She saw a list of dates and locations that she recognised from the notebook she’d stolen the day they arrived.

Her blood ran cold at the thought.

Pinstripes was trying to recreate his list of possible targets, he was planning on hitting other vulnerable times, preparing to change the future in any way he could.

She wondered if he’d done any of these things already.

Darcy spun back to the rest of the apartment. She spotted a pen on the desk and leapt to seize it. She searched around the room and then moved out into the rest of the apartment, finding what she needed in the hall closet. Armed with the pen and a small suitcase, she made her way back to the closet and its terrifyingly important wallpaper.

With quick determination, she set to work labelling each piece of paper. First, a small arrow to identify the wall it was on, then a letter to show where it fit left to right and a number for top to bottom. In a matter of minutes she had the left wall labelled and started tearing the pages down, shoving them into the suitcase without pausing to keep them ordered.

She worked as fast as she could, no longer trying to be quiet. The time for stealth was over, though she kept one ear focussed on the sounds around her, half expecting Pinstripes to arrive home at any moment.

He didn’t.

She coded and dismantled all of the work he’d plastered over the inside of his closet, shoving all of it into the suitcase, and still there was no sign of him.

She turned her attention to the rest of the room. There was no point in trying to hide her presence now. She tore drawers out of the desk and the dresser, turning everything upside down and sifting through every sock and tie. She dug through the kitchen cupboards, the back of the refrigerator, the depths of the oven. She felt around inside the chimney and pulled the cushions off the sofa.

She found two sets of identification papers, a small pile of money, a camera and multiple rolls of film, three guns and a scary number of knives.

Everything that would fit went in the suitcase with the papers, and the weapons that wouldn’t fit she took apart, distributing the pieces as far apart as she could to be sure they wouldn’t be used against her.

And still, Pinstripes didn’t return.

When she was certain she’d scoured every inch of the apartment and couldn’t think of any other hiding places, she finally stopped to consider her situation.

She had every reason to believe that Pinstripes would be back. When he got back, he would know instantly that she had been here and would not stick around. Which meant it would be best if she could stay and wait for him. Don’t give him a chance to disappear again.

But, she didn’t know what he was doing out there today. He could be setting a trap for Steve right now and he could attack while she was sitting here waiting for him to come home.

She checked her watch, assessing.

It was still hours before Steve would be off work, and Pinstripes had never attempted to get at Steve while he was at work before. It would be a calculated risk, but she could wait a few hours and if he didn’t arrive by a certain time then she could go walk Steve home and then come back.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best option she could come up with.

Taking steps to stow the suitcase outside on the fire escape and to assess the best angles for attack, Darcy pulled out her gun and settled in to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, right! Minor cliffhanger there. I intentionally left this until later in the week to post and I'll post the next one as early as I can this weekend so it should only be a couple of days to hold your breath.


	24. Thinking and Not Thinking

Darcy waited.

She had pulled the sofa a few feet to the side so that she could crouch behind it with a clear shot at the door. For a while she’d kept that position, squatting behind the bulky piece of furniture, forearms resting on the back so she could keep her gun pointed firmly at the entrance.

Her arms had started shaking from holding the position relatively quickly, so she’d given up on that.

Instead, she sat on the floor behind the sofa, listening carefully for noises in the hallway and trying not to think too much about what she was doing here.

Don’t think about what it takes to be a murderer.

Don’t think about the kind of family Pinstripes might have left behind in the future, expecting to be back in a day.

Don’t think about all the ways this could go wrong.

Don’t think about police and prisons.

Don’t think.

Just sit, with a gun in your lap, with a sofa pulled across as a shield, with a plan to take a life, with nothing to distract you, and _don’t_ think.

She checked her watch every few minutes. Well, at first, she was checking it a few times a minute but that was clearly not helpful so she focussed on not looking as long as she could, which turned out to be a few minutes.

She watched the hands tick closer to her self-imposed deadline, decidedly _not thinking_ about whether she wanted Pinstripes to show up in time or not.

Ninety-seven minutes after she set her trap, Darcy heard a noise in the hallway.

She tensed, alert in an instant.

_It could just be a neighbour_ , she reminded herself, as she shifted silently up to point her gun once more towards the door, _they could just walk past._

The steps stopped and then there was the sound of a key in the lock.

Darcy realised she wasn’t breathing and forced a slow, not quite even breath.

The door knob turned.

Darcy had the sudden terrifying thought that it could be someone else walking in, and her whole body seized up at the idea. She had to wait until she was sure.

The door shifted inwards slowly while Darcy held her breath. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and her eyes itched with the desperate need to blink. She waited, poised on the edge of action, hoping she could get her tensed, terrified body to do what she needed when the moment came.

A confused face appeared around the edge of the door. Darcy told her hands to shoot.

Shoot. Now.

His eyes shifted in her direction.

Darcy pulled the trigger.

The sound was deafening to Darcy and, unsure if it was due to the shock or if some part of her knew what she was doing, Darcy shot again.

Pinstripes was thrown backwards, hitting the wall beside the door. He looked at her in utter shock as his hands rose to his left shoulder, finding the blood there. Before Darcy could decide what she was meant to do next, he reached behind himself with his right hand and pulled his own gun.

Darcy dropped low behind the sofa. His gun went off twice and she jumped each time, looking down to make sure she hadn’t been hit.

She didn’t know where his bullets had gone, but they weren’t in her so that was a win.

Bracing herself, she snuck a darting glance over the back of the sofa, ducking back quickly and shifting sideways so he wouldn’t know exactly where she was.

Another shot rang out and she saw where it hit this time, the hole well above her head in the wall behind her.

Darcy let the adrenaline take her.

Her quick glance had found Pinstripes slumped against the wall, the door half closed next to him. He’d swapped his gun to his left hand while his right hand was clutching at his side. Not clutching at his shoulder, where she knew her first bullet had hit him, but at his side. Her second shot must have hit him as well.

And she’d hit his left shoulder, so he couldn’t have much manoeuvrability in his left hand. She had cover and several more bullets. She had the upper hand. She just had to end this.

She pushed up again, shoving her gun over the edge of the sofa and firing another shot. In her haste, the bullet went wide. She shot again, but this time her shaking hands threw off her aim.

Darcy barely registered the sounds of the shots around her, but she did register the puff of feathers that went up when one of Pinstripe’s bullets hit a cushion near her on the sofa.

She dropped back behind the sofa again, breathing heavily.

She needed to get under control. She only had two bullets left in her gun and she doubted Pinstripes would give her a chance to reload.

“Fucking _bitch_ ,” She heard him growl, “You’re gonna fucking regret this.”

“Not as much as you,” Darcy shot back, edging to her left to peer around the side of the sofa without him noticing. He was reaching out, pushing the door open, and she realised he was trying to slide out while she was hiding.

Focussing all of her willpower on keeping her hands steady, Darcy eased her gun slowly around the edge of the sofa trying to avoid catching his eye. She raised it in front of her and took a moment to centre the barrel. Remembering Burt’s instructions, she took a breath and then exhaled slowly as she squeezed the trigger.

“Fuck!” Pinstripes swore as her bullet clipped his right arm. His grip slipped and the door slammed shut next to him.

Darcy saw him shift his gun clumsly in her direction, but she was already dropping back behind the sofa again.

“You’re not a very good shot, are you?” Pinstripes wheezed, “And I know you’re on your last bullet, but I’ve got another whole loaded gun. You really think you can hit me from all the way over there?”

“Maybe I don’t need to,” Darcy countered, “I could just wait for you to bleed out.”

“You willing to count on that happening before those sirens get here?”

Darcy paused, focussing for the first time on the sounds outside the apartment. There was shouting coming from the floor below, and distantly she could hear sirens.

“Are you willing to be arrested for this? You know they still have the death penalty now. You willing to die for this?”

“Obviously,” Darcy snorted, “I’ve known all along what the stakes were here.”

“Well,” Pinstripes let out a pained groan, “I’ve got a one-time counter offer. Neither of us wants to be here when the police arrive. So we let each other go this time. Next time, all deals are off. Next time I see you, I’ll kill you. Don’t think because I underestimated you once that you’ll escape again.”

Darcy let out a shocked laugh, “Once? You think you underestimated me _once_? Which once was that? That one time I thwarted your assassination attempts everyday for a week? This one time when I found you and shot you a whole bunch? That first time when you introduced yourself to gloat about how you’d figured out my plan? Because, newsflash dude, this was my plan all along.”

She heard a clicking sound and realised Pinstripes was moving. She’d stayed hidden too long and hadn’t tracked what he was doing. She chanced another glance to find he’d opened the door again and was half way out of the room.

She levelled her gun, but hesitated.

He was right, this was her last bullet and she wasn’t a very good shot. If she missed now, then she’d have no distance weapon to use against him and she believed him when he said he had another one.

But he was almost out the door, and then what would she have.

She steadied herself again, trying to find her centre to aim correctly but she was already out of time.

Her last bullet hit the door frame right next to Pinstripes ear. Darcy swore as he toppled sideways through the gap and pulled the door closed behind him.

She scrambled to her feet, keeping low as she moved towards the door. Maybe if she could get there fast enough she could get into close quarters with him before he could make use of his gun. But she’d only gone a few steps when she heard the key scrape in the lock again and the bolt slid home.

She stopped, staring at the door.

It was a smart move, she had to give him that. It wasn’t the kind of lock that opened from the inside, which meant she’d need a key, which she didn’t have, or lock picks, which she not only didn’t have but also didn’t know how to use. By the time she’d figured out how to get the door open, he could be long gone.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” She muttered to herself, spinning in a quick circle to check her options.

There weren’t many. Her best chance was probably trying to get down to the ground floor before he did and catch him on the way out.

Decided, she dashed towards the broken window and ducked out onto the fire escape. She grabbed the suitcase she’d stashed there on her way past, hoping she’d have time once she got to the ground to retrieve one of the weapons she’d stashed inside.

In hindsight, she should have kept more of them near her, though at the time she’d been certain that keeping Pinstripes from using them against her was the bigger issue.

She hadn’t even considered that she’d get everything else right and then just keep failing to hit anything vital.

As Darcy hit the last level of the fire escape, she heard the squeal of tyres out the front of the building. The sirens had grown steadily louder as she climbed, and she’d clearly run out of time.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” She whispered again.

She couldn’t afford to be arrested. She might be able to explain away the disguise, but she’d never be able to talk her way out of the contents of the suitcase. And she couldn’t leave that lying around for anyone to find.

“Fuckity fuck fuck.” She swore again.

She had to go. As close as she’d gotten to ending this, she’d run out of options. She had no more bullets and no more time.

She spared one moment to pull the large postman’s jacket off and cover the suitcase with it. Then she pulled the bundle into her arms and took off running.

The police spotted her almost as soon as she appeared from the alley. She heard them call out, yelling for her to stop, but she ignored them. She wasn’t built for speed or for stamina, which meant surprise was her best advantage. So she didn’t look back, keeping her eyes instead on her target, her best shot at getting out of here.

The subway steps weren’t far from the building that Pinstripes had been living in. In a few strained breaths, Darcy had reached them. She sped down, skipping three steps at a time as she dashed for the spot she’d made note of during her earlier stakeouts.

She could hear the police chasing her, but with the twisting tunnels of the subway station she knew they couldn’t see her. She ducked down a side tunnel and into a small alcove that wasn’t visible from the main passageway.

With fumbling fingers, she dropped the suitcase and started tearing at her disguise. The man’s shirt was torn in her haste to extricate herself, and she dropped it to the floor along with the pants she’d belted tightly to keep everything together. The hat she’d kept her hair tucked under, and the towels she’d used to pad out her figure joined the pile.

The skirt of the dress she’d worn under her disguise was wrinkled from being rolled up around her waist all day, but it hung normally. She pulled a hairclip from the pocket and shoved her hair haphazardly into it. With a quick swipe at her face to try and minimise the sweat and terror she felt soaked in, Darcy picked up the suitcase and strode casually out into the subway.

She kept her eyes steadily forward as she made her way into the open area at the end of the entrance tunnel. The police were talking to a staff member, but they made space for her as she approached and paid for a ticket. She gave them a quick but polite nod and moved as fast as she thought was reasonable towards the train.

She really hoped they didn’t look down. There wasn’t much she could do about the shoes.

Seeing a train at the platform, Darcy rushed forward. Behind her, she heard one of the officers shout a confused, “excuse me, ma’am?” but she ignored it, ducking between the closing doors.

She held her breath, terrified that if she looked back the police would see the guilt on her face. Instead, she remained facing into the train until it started moving, carrying her away.


	25. What do You Mean Gone?

It was the wrong train.

Well, since Darcy’s aim when she’d boarded was _anywhere but here_ , it had been exactly the right train, but it took her over two hours to make her way back to her neighbourhood. She couldn’t just take the same train back in the other direction, or she’d risk running into those police again. So instead she’d taken the very long route around the other way. She’d had to switch trains three times to get there.

By the time she traipsed up the steps of the subway station nearest to Steve’s apartment she was exhausted, disheartened, and depressed.

She’d been so close, just to fail once again.

And still, after everything, there was a part of her that was relieved. Despite knowing logically, and believing ethically, that killing Pinstripes was the best option, she just didn’t want to have to do it.

She couldn’t figure out if that made her a terrible person or a good person. Surely not wanting to kill was a good thing overall, but when killing was necessary – and she’d thought about this enough to be sure it was now – conviction and follow through were more important.

She felt sick.

That was normal for her these days. Aniexty, fear, nausea, insomnia, hyper-vigilance. That was just her life now. She couldn’t even call it PTSD. The term didn’t exist yet, and she wasn’t ‘post’ anything. Was there such a thing as peritraumatic stress?

She let her mind wander down random, useless tangents, not wanting to think about what was really happening.

But she had to sooner or later.

Pinstripes had escaped. She’d shot him. She’d hit him _three times_ and he’d still gotten away. What were the odds on that?

Okay, there was a chance he still could have bled out before getting to help, but she couldn’t count on that. He’d been remarkably functional while injured and smart enough in his escape that she had to assume he’d find a way to get help.

Which meant she was back where she’d started, with no idea where he was.

She’d have to find him again. She just… she just had to; whatever it took. And she couldn’t take five months to find him this time. One way or another, she had to find him before he had a chance to recover.

The door opened before she got there and Steve stepped out, arms full of laundry. He spotted her coming and paused.

“Billie,” He frowned, “Are you okay?”

Darcy opened her mouth to tell him she was fine, just a normal day, everything under control.

A sob escaped her instead.

“No,” She admitted in a whisper.

Steve dropped his laundry and reached for her, pulling her into the apartment.

She let him guide her inside and settle her on a chair, barely registering the words he spoke to her.

Tomorrow, she would track down Pinstripes, tonight, with Steve holding her steady, she could take some time to process what had happened, and what hadn’t happened. She could let herself, finally, think about it.

-

Darcy pulled herself together.

It was something she was getting good at, she had so much practice. That was just how her life worked now. Have a minor breakdown, or sometimes a major one, question everything that led to this moment and doubt every possible action that could be taken next, then get back up and move forwards anyway.

So what if she was exhausted? Didn’t matter if she wasn’t good at this job. Her own mental health was not important in the scheme of things.

She was the one who was here, so she was the one who had to do something.

End of story.

She went back to the police, Mr Fernandez’ contacts, Mariana, the nurses she’d gotten to know while Sarah was dying. She showed Pinstripes picture around, asked about some of the names she’d found in his apartment.

Unlike every other time, within a few days she started getting answers.

One of the nurses came through with the name of a backroom surgeon who confirmed that he had patched up Pinstripes. For a minor bribe, the man recounted how Pinstripes had asked how far he could travel in this condition and what mode of transport would be best.

Mariana found three people, though she wouldn’t tell Darcy who they were, who had contact systems for Pinstripes, but they all said the same thing – he was no longer answering.

The police were, as usual, fairly useless.

But the confirmation came through one of Mr Fernandez’s suppliers. He came into the shoe shop with a delivery five days after Darcy’s showdown with Pinstripes. After they’d signed off on the delivery and payment, he drew Darcy aside.

“Heard you’re looking for someone, they said you’d pay for solid information on his whereabouts.”

Darcy cast a glance over the man, trying to determine his reliability.

“For solid information, yeah,” She agreed, “But how do I know your information is solid?”

He pulled a lump from one of the boxes he’d claimed was for another delivery.

“He dropped this in one of my trucks,” He replied, holding it out to her.

Darcy reached out tentatively and took what he offered. It was a lump of fabric, the colour familiar, and when she unrolled it she saw the blood stains.

It was the jacket he’d been wearing when she shot him.

“Do you know where he is now?” She asked calmly, though her heart raced.

“No,” He admitted, “But I know where he was three days ago. He paid one of my boys for transport out of the city. I can tell you where he was dropped off.”

_Out of the city_. Darcy let the words play through her mind for a moment, shocked. How could he leave the city? His number one target was here.

But he’d had a whole list of other targets, she reminded herself.

And maybe she’d actually convinced him that he wouldn’t be able to beat her here.

She looked back up at the man with the information, whose name she still didn’t know.

“How much?” She asked.

They haggled for a few minutes, until they agreed upon a number. Darcy exchanged the cash for a piece of paper with an address on it.

She had to look up the town. It was several hours away from the city.

Pinstripes was gone.

-

Darcy didn’t know if she should believe it. Even confirmed from multiple sources, she didn’t know whether she could trust that Pinstripes had really left.

And if he had, who’s to say he wouldn’t come back?

She kept looking for him, everywhere, kept expecting him to leap out with another ambush. But he didn’t.

After two weeks without a single sighting of him, she knew she had to accept that he really could be gone. Which opened up another whole set of concerns.

If he was gone, then where had he gone to? What plans was he putting together now? Should she be chasing him to find out, or staying here to make sure he didn’t just double back for Steve?

She spent days sorting through the notes she’d stolen. There were plans that she could decipher, and others that weren’t so clear. Many things lined up with what was already in the notebook she’d taken when they arrived, but there were extra details that she made note of.

There were names of people, some marked as possible contacts, others as possible targets. There were plenty of options for where he might have gone, and if she didn’t start on his trail soon, she might never find him.

But it might already be too late for that. Two weeks was a long head start.

And it was just as possible that Pinstripes had fled town to recover. She had managed to shoot him three times. He couldn’t be comfortable right now. What if he was just laying low until he healed, then he would be back to try and kill Steve again?

She couldn’t let anything happen to Steve. She couldn’t risk that possibility.

So she stayed.

The days passed into weeks, then a month. Winter set in with a vengeance and holiday decorations appeared.

And Pinstripes stayed away.

The longer he was gone, the more certain she was that he was planning something else, something other than taking out Captain America. She worried that she’d chosen wrong, that she’d let him go and she wouldn’t be able to find him again.

He would keep trying to change the future, she knew. And she was still the only one who knew enough to stop him.

Darcy stared at his notebook, updated now to include the plans she’d found at his apartment. The first date on the list was creeping closer, and he’d planned for it on his closet walls.

He would be there, or close at least. She was sure of it. She doubted he would use the same plan he’d been formulating in the pages she’d stolen, but he would try something.

She would have to find a way to stop him.

It was still months away, though, and she had no leads for where to look for him before then. Really, she told herself, she might as well stay here until then, make sure that Steve was safe and whole and as happy as he could be.

It was better to stay, she decided, just a while longer. Just to be sure. She wasn’t ready to leave Steve yet.

She didn’t want to.

But she’d have to sooner or later, that much was clear. Because the first date on Pinstripes’ list could wipe Captain America out of existence just as easily.

_Agent Peggy Carter and Doctor Abraham Erskine arrive in America._

She would have to protect them too.


	26. Six is the Loneliest Number

Christmas rolled around before Darcy even realised it.

It had been mentioned around her, but she hadn’t realised it was so close until Bucky invited her to join him and Steve at the Barnes’ family Christmas dinner two days before hand.

At which point she had to have a slight panic about presents.

She interrogated Bucky fiercely about whether he had gotten her something, whether Steve had gotten her something, whether either were expecting gifts from her, and whether his family would be exchanging gifts together and it would be incredibly obvious if she forgot to bring anything.

He’d tried to hold out against her questioning, tried to avoid confirming or denying the existence of gifts for her; but he wasn’t prepared for the intense interview she put him through.

She soon had confirmation that not only had they both gotten her gifts; not only had they both gotten her extremely thoughtful gifts that she’d never be able to match; Bucky’s parents had also gotten her something, and his sister was knitting socks for Darcy.

She had no idea how to deal with that.

After several minutes staring at him in shock, Darcy had seized him by the arm and physically dragged him to the shops where she made him help her find gifts that, while not particularly great, wouldn’t be too embarrassing to hand out.

Despite her fears, it was a perfect day.

Darcy had been raised by parents who were culturally Jewish, but theologically atheist, and they’d picked out just the traditions they’d liked and left everything else behind. When her parents had died, her Grandma had tried to get her to embrace Judaism, but Darcy hadn’t been particularly interested at the time.

The foster care system hadn’t offered much in the way of joy and celebration in Darcy’s experience, college had been full of people who were also broke and didn’t care about the holidays, and Jane was more even likely to miss the entire month than Darcy was.

She’d never really been to a big, cheerful family Christmas before. It was exactly what she’d always imagined it would be.

There was a load of people who Darcy had never met, many tipsy by noon, a small hoard of children running around yelling at each other, more food than she’d thought anyone could pull together in these hard times, and so much laughter and joy that she barely knew how to respond.

Just as she was starting to feel overwhelmed by it all, Steve pulled her aside to a quieter corner of the room and started up a card game with Bucky’s little sister, Rebecca, and incredibly senile aunt, Mildred.

Somehow Mildred kept winning, and Darcy started to wonder if the senility wasn’t all an act.

“You have to come, Billie,” Rebecca coaxed, “It’s the best New Year’s party. They’ve booked the whole dance hall for it.”

“I don’t know,” Darcy hedged, it did sound fun, but it didn’t feel right to be celebrating so much given the circumstances, “I’m not sure it’s really my thing.”

“Come on,” Rebecca urged, “What else are you going to do for New Years? Steve and Bucky are both going, so everyone you know will be there.”

She caught the friendly teasing in Rebecca’s voice and smiled, “They’re not the _only_ people I know.”

“No, you’re right,” Rebecca agreed with a grin, “But Martha Wright will be there, too.”

Steve let out a snort next to her while Darcy just glared.

“You know Martha Wright is terrified of me,” She said bluntly.

“Everyone knows that,” Aunt Mildred nodded, and then played a completely illegal card.

Darcy looked at the woman in shock and then laughed aloud. And she couldn’t stop. Steve and Rebecca started laughing as well, at her or with her, Darcy didn’t care. Each time they started to calm down, one person would start again and trigger the others.

It was the best Darcy had felt in months. She felt like, somehow, the whole world almost made sense in that moment.

“Okay, fine,” She giggled, breathless, “You win. I’ll go. What else would I want to do on New Year’s Eve besides scaring an innocent girl?”

\--

The week between Christmas and New Year was quiet but lovely. People were all popping by to visit each other, bringing left overs or unwanted gifts or just stories. Darcy actually heard Mrs Benthelwaite laugh and was so shocked she had stared at the woman, frozen, for a full minute.

A storm set in and people shivered and worried about running out of fuel for their fires, but the community spirit of the holidays kept them going, gave them excuses to stay together for more warmth.

New Year’s Eve rolled around, and Darcy put on her best dress and her favourite lipstick and managed to put her hair up in something almost fancy. She walked with Steve to the dance hall where the party was happening, and they laughed as they speculated about whether Bucky would end the night with the same girl he showed up with.

Darcy savoured every moment of it.

It had been so long since she’d let herself just be a person, not a bodyguard or a hero or anything. She remembered talking with Steve and Bucky the first day they’d walked together and feeling like it was surreal and almost disrespectful to enjoy normal things while the world fell apart.

Now she knew just how important and beautiful those normal things were, she knew how empty and painful the world was without them, and she knew that it was so incredibly important to enjoy the good things while they were there.

She knew they probably wouldn’t last much longer.

The party was an odd sensation. It wasn’t quite like anything she’d been to before, but the closest she could come would be high school formals. That small community of people who know each other too well, dressed up and socialising in a slightly forced environment, dancing somewhat awkwardly. She made small talk with strangers, and praised everyone’s outfits, and tried to avoid getting too close to Martha Wright and scaring the poor girl.

It wasn’t her fault she’d been there when Darcy had her total meltdown.

They settled at a table together, she and Steve and Bucky and Bucky’s date and Rebecca and her date and a couple of other friends. There was food and drink and slowly the table dwindled as couples made their way out to the dance floor and single people worked up the nerve to ask each other to join them.

“I…” Steve glanced at her, nerves clear in his face, “Did you, um, want to dance?”

Darcy looked out at the dancers bouncing and spinning around the floor.

“Oh, I can’t dance,” She said, taking a sip of her drink.

“Really?” Steve asked, surprised.

Darcy gave him a side-eye glance, “What? Is that so weird? Is this another 40s thing? Does everybody know how to dance?”

“No,” Steve assured her, “I don’t know how to dance either. You just seem like the kind of girl who would go dancing.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I used to be. But it was nothing like this.” Darcy huffed out a breath and smiled sadly, then shook her head at her own nostalgia and gave Steve a real grin, “Pretty sure Gangnam Style wouldn’t go over very well here.”

“Gangnam style?” Steve frowned.

“It’s the height of the future, Steve,” Darcy told him seriously.

Steve just laughed at her, used to her inexplicable statements. Suddenly, his face turned serious.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” He asked, glancing around the crowded dance hall, “Maybe somewhere quieter?”

“Sure,” Darcy agreed, frowning in concern, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sort of, maybe,” Steve answered unhelpfully. He stood and offered her a hand up, “Probably. I just need to… There’s just something I need to tell you.”

“Okay,” Darcy nodded, “Lead on.”

They made their way out to the foyer and then snuck into the unguarded coat room.

“Billie,” Steve began once they were alone, “I… There’s something I need to say to you.”

“Sure, Steve,” Darcy leaned back against one of the coatracks, “What’s going on?”

Steve started pacing the limited space in front of her, nerves easy to see.

“I – I don’t know how to say it.” Steve stammered, “It’s kind of a big deal, but also not. It’s just the truth, has been for a while, and saying it out loud or staying silent doesn’t change anything, not really.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Darcy asked, amused.

“I love you.” Steve blurted, turning to face her directly.

Darcy’s blood ran cold.

“No,” She said, because… because _no_.

“I know,” Steve sighed, stepping towards her, “I know you said I shouldn’t, couldn’t. You’ve said so many times that you can’t have that kind of – of relationship. But you’ve been here for months, Billie, and you’ve almost died so many times. I just… what if you’re here for good? Or what if something happens tomorrow and you disappear forever? Either way, how could I live with never telling you the truth?”

“No,” Darcy whispered again, throat choking with tears, “Please don’t do this.”

“I –” Steve reached towards her uncertainly, “I’m sorry. I… I’m not expecting anything. I know I’m not exactly a catch. You don’t have to say anything back, I just want you to know -”

“No!” Darcy interrupted, pushing away from the wall of coats, “No, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear it. Take it back. Tell me it was a joke, tell me it was a lie. Tell me it was anything but the truth.”

Steve stared at her in shock for a moment and then shrugged, hopelessly. “I can’t.”

Darcy closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

She knew what she had to do. She’d written the rule for a reason, had imagined this happening in so many different ways, trying to prepare herself.

She was not prepared.

“I can’t be here right now,” Darcy dropped her hands and went to push past Steve. At the door she looked back for a moment. “You can’t love me, Steve, so just… just stop.”

Without giving him a chance to reply, she shoved through the door and left him behind.

She was well out of earshot and didn’t hear his whispered response.

“How the hell am I meant to do that?”

-

Darcy walked blindly from the dance hall. She watched her breath crystallise in the chilly winter air, focussed on the small clouds she made.

She was glad Pinstripes was gone. She couldn’t focus on her surroundings right now. Not when her heart was breaking.

Rule fucking six.

It had seemed so simple the first time she’d written it. Just break everyone’s hearts, no big deal. It’s not like there’s any other possible outcome anyway.

By the time she’d re-written it, moving the line after she’d crossed it herself, she’d known just how hard it would be. And she’d hoped that she would never have to do it.

Darcy had told herself that if it was just her heart on the line it wouldn’t matter. Who cared if her chest ached every time she looked at Steve? What did it matter if she spent hours every day fighting the urge to reach out to him, that she missed him whenever they were apart? As long as she was the only one suffering, then it was fine.

But Steve loved her.

Steve Rogers, the best man she’d ever known, the kindest, sweetest, most generous person, loved her.

They were the most achingly beautiful words she’d ever heard.

And all she could ever do was hurt him.

Darcy brushed at the tears on her cheeks, sniffing loudly.

Well, that was it then. No going back. Her response would have broken his heart already, so she’d just have to leave it at that. She would keep her distance, cut her ties. Carrington had been gone for weeks; she didn’t have to worry about Steve day-to-day anymore. She could leave him to his own devices while she tracked Carrington wherever he’d gone.

She could do it. She would have to do it. She’d always known it would come to this. She couldn’t let Carrington wreak havoc on the timelines, so she’d go finish the job she started under that table with Jane so many months ago. Back then she’d had no idea just what she was getting herself into, but she’d done it anyway. And, surprisingly, she hadn’t done that badly.

Okay, she’d failed to actually stop Carrington. _Yet_ , she told herself, hadn’t stopped him _yet_. But she’d kept him at bay. She’d kept Steve safe. She’d kept time more or less intact.

And that’s what she would keep doing. No matter what it took, no matter where that road led, no matter the cost to herself.

This was no different. It was the same decision she’d made every day since she was captured by Hydra. She would keep going, keep moving forward, keep doing what needed to be done.

But there would be no more distracting herself with parties or comforting herself with company.

Because after today, she’d have to do it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!!! Except for the ways that I'm not sorry at all.


	27. The Best Way to Break a Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm ready. Let's up the pace here. Time to power through the rest of this one.

She stopped showing up to walk with Steve, stopped inviting herself over for dinner. When he called her at work, she hung up; when Bucky showed up outside her apartment, she pushed past him without a word, wrapping her arms around herself and refusing to acknowledge him.

She saw the agony in Steve’s face when she walked past him in the street, and she told herself it was for the best. She had to hurt him now, viciously, but then he’d heal.

It was time to start making other plans. She pulled Carrington’s notebook from its hiding place once more, carefully avoiding the page of rules this time.

She didn’t need the reminder.

Instead, she looked at his notes. Specifically, she focussed on the page of dates and locations that he’d clearly marked for possible changes.

She remembered when she’d poured over the book in the first few weeks. She’d stared at those dates and thought they were beyond her worry. They’d seemed so far away and she’d been so certain that she’d be long gone before then.

The first one was only a few months away now, less than half the time she’d already spent in this decade. It was also her best lead on where Carrington would be heading next. She had to make sure that every event listed in this book would go ahead as it was meant to.

Darcy made plans. She gathered supplies. She made a trip back out to Queens and retrieved the things she’d left in the safety deposit box there.

She cried. A lot.

Darcy had never cried so much in her life as she had in 1940. To be fair, she’d never had so many reasons crammed into half a year before, but she still felt like she should have run out of tears by now. She should have withered into dehydration. She should have built up some callouses to these emotional trials, some walls to guard her heart and soul.

But instead, she’d had Steve. He’d cared for her, protected her, told her she was strong when she knew it was a lie, told her things would be okay when she couldn’t imagine how that could be true. And she’d done the same for him, holding his hand through his mother’s funeral, patching him up after another fight.

She didn’t want to leave him to stand alone. She didn’t know how to stand on her own either.

And he kept calling. Kept showing up at her door. Mrs Benthelwaite’s stern expression wasn’t the barricade it usually was. In fact, the pity on the older woman’s face made Darcy’s heart ache more. Even stone-cold bitch Sylvia Benthelwaite thought what Darcy was doing to Steve was wrong.

Darcy stared at the small suitcase that she’d mostly packed. The important things, the notebook and the small device that was her only tether to the future and to Jane, were still hidden under the false bottom of the drawer. There was a hidden pocket in the suitcase as well, where her extra identification papers and cash were stowed.

She could leave right now. Just gather the final few items, pick up the suitcase, and walk out.

Never come back.

Darcy stifled a sob, burying her head in her hands, wishing she could close her mind as easily as her eyes. But no matter how she tried, she still saw Steve.

She saw the way he’d looked at her when he’d come by this morning. The despair and regret and self-contempt in his eyes. He’d been so heartbroken, so certain that he’d done something wrong. He’d begged her forgiveness.

And she couldn’t give it, because he hadn’t done anything that needed forgiveness.

Darcy shoved suddenly to her feet. She paused to kick the suitcase under the bed and pull on some shoes and a coat. Then she was tiptoeing out the door, trying to be quiet, but not really caring if she woke someone up as long as they didn’t try to stop her.

She walked quickly, breaking into a jog a couple of times, and soon she was standing in front of the door to Bucky’s basement apartment.

She’d been there only twice before, always forcing them to spend time at Steve’s instead so that she wouldn’t have to worry about Steve wandering home alone.

She knocked, not letting herself think too much about what she was doing, about all the reasons that she shouldn’t. When the thought rose that she should walk away now, she knocked again, louder.

“What? Jesus,” Bucky’s voice came angrily through the door and she heard the multiple locks being moved, “It’s the middle of the freaking night.”

The door opened and Bucky stared at her blearily for a moment.

“You done avoiding us, then?” He asked angrily.

“How much will you hate me if I do something stupid?” Darcy asked quickly, frantically.

“Now?” Bucky groaned and dropped his head to the doorframe. He looked up and caught the frenzied, desperate look in her eye. He shook his head, “That depends, what stupid thing are you wanting to do?”

“Steve,” Darcy whispered.

“Steve’s not stupid,” Bucky answered instinctively, then sighed and pushed the door open, “Guess you’d better come in. I’ve got some tea around here somewhere.”

Darcy followed him into the kitchen and sat, fidgeting anxiously, as he opened three cupboards before finding the teabags.

“So what brings this on now?” Bucky asked without much patience, “You’ve spent the last week treating him like shit. You’re breaking his heart, which I goddamn told you not to, and now – what? You want to change your mind?”

“I can’t be what he wants or needs,” Darcy told him, tears spilling, “I can’t stay here. I have to leave and to do that I have to break his heart.”

“Well, congratulations, mission accomplished.” Bucky answered scornfully, dropping the cup of tea in front of her.

“You told me to be honest,” Darcy reminded him, “You told me to make it clear from the start that I couldn’t offer anything more, and I tried. I told him over and over again. I tried so hard not to hurt him. But I can’t protect him from this.”

Bucky settled across from her, clearly still angry but listening anyway, “So why are you here? Are you wanting my forgiveness? You’re hurting my best friend. I don’t have to forgive you.”

“Just tell me which is worse, please,” Darcy begged, “Is it worse to cut all ties cleanly, distance myself and disappear from his life so he can start to heal? Or is it worse to tell him the truth now, to tell him how much I love him, and then still have to leave?”

Bucky watched her for a moment, the sleepy anger fading from his gaze as the watchful assessment that she’d caught on his face a few times before reappeared.

“He’s the one you came for, isn’t he?” Bucky asked quietly.

“What?” Darcy asked, shocked, “I – I don’t know what you mean.”

Bucky nodded like she’d answered his question, “You didn’t make sense, until I stared putting the signs together. The way you always watch him, always showed up to walk him home, made sure he stayed home when he got there. The way you looked to him first whenever anything happened. And then there was the funeral. Steve said he’d thought that knife was aimed for him, and then I understood. It was, wasn’t it? That guy you’ve been running from and chasing since you got here, he’s not trying to kill you, is he? He’s after Steve.”

“I – It’s…” Darcy shook her head, not knowing how to answer.

“You don’t need to tell me, I already know,” Bucky shook his head, disbelieving, “But what the hell is _Steve Rogers_ going to do that’s so important to the future?”

“I can’t talk about this.” Darcy whispered.

“I know,” Bucky nodded, “But I also know how much you’ve given already to protect him. I’ve known that you loved him since before you admitted it to yourself. You want to know what your best option is here? I’ll tell you the same thing my mother told me the first time I wanted to ask a girl out and was too scared.”

He leaned forward, catching Darcy’s eye.

“It’s never wrong to be honest. Sometimes it hurts, and sometimes it’s terrifying. It might not go the way you want, and it might not mean what you think it should. But no one has ever been told too much that they’re loved. Not when it’s true.”

Darcy stared up at him, surprised by the heartfelt advice.

“I do love him.” She said feeling some relief at just saying the words aloud.

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said dispassionately, then raised a brow at her, “Does he?”

Darcy took a breath, nodding at the decision she was making, “And you’ll look after him, when I have to leave, when I have to break his heart again?”

“I ain’t going anywhere.” Bucky assured her.

She nodded again, pushing herself up from his table. She paused there, looking down at him.

“I love you, too, you know.” She told him matter-of-factly, “You’re an amazing friend, and I trust you with my life. And with his. Thank you.”

For the first time, Bucky seemed mildly flustered, “I – yeah, I mean, thanks. I guess you’re not a completely terrible friend either.”

Darcy huffed out a laugh at his answer and moved towards the door.

“And Billie,” Bucky followed her to the door, waiting until she looked back at him, “I do forgive you. And I always will.”

Darcy felt a stab of dread shoot through her heart, the knowledge of what lay in his future suddenly leaping to mind.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Bucky,” Darcy warned him, “Breaking your friend’s heart might not be the most unforgiveable thing I have to do.”


	28. Could We Just Pretend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how far we've come. When I started posting this, I had serious doubts about my ability to finish even half of this story. It was bigger than anything I'd attempted before with so many different pieces. And now look at it. There's almost a whole entire story.
> 
> ... and you don't even know the half of it.

Darcy stood on the doorstep, fidgeting with the load in her arms.

She was nervous. Downright scared, to be honest. She ran through the things she could say over and over again but nothing sounded right. She had to tell him that she loved him, that he was everything to her, but also that everything wasn’t enough and she would be leaving.

How did you say something like that?

Would she make it worse by giving him the truth? Would he hate her for giving a fraction of what he wanted and then snatching it away? Could he forgive her for… everything?

She’d gone home after leaving Bucky the night before. She’d wanted to come straight here, before she lost her nerve, but she knew it probably wasn’t wise to accost Steve in the middle of the night.

So she went back to her own home instead, and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning and completely failing to sleep.

When she heard movement in the apartment she’d given up on sleep and dragged herself out of bed. The day had dragged in a haze of bleary anxiety, though it wasn’t without its drama.

She took the time to inform both Mrs Benthelwaite and Mr Fernandez that she’d decided not to stay in New York. They’d both been disappointed in different ways, but she’d made them understand eventually. Mr Fernandez had provided her with a list of names and addresses in several cities that he promised could help her acquire things or find information.

Mrs Benthelwaite had provided her with unsolicited advice that was mostly extreme and contradictory.

Darcy was oddly sad to be leaving the woman behind, even though she couldn’t wait to be out of her house. She’d gotten a whole lot of judgement there, but she’d also found safe harbour when her world had been turned upside-down.

She hadn’t told either of them just how soon she might be leaving.

First, she needed to talk to Steve.

Despite knowing that it wouldn’t matter to him, she’d picked out her nicest dress for today. Her hair was curled and put up in one of the few ‘40s hairstyles she’d actually managed to master.

It was stupid; he’d seen her at her absolute worst and for some reason he loved her anyway. But she felt like she needed the advantage, and also that he deserved everything she could offer.

Her fingers clutched involuntarily when he appeared at the top of the stairs. He was looking down at his feet, shoulders drooped and despondent.

Darcy’s breath caught.

Then he looked up and saw her standing there and they both froze for a moment.

Darcy reminded herself to breathe.

“Hi,” She said softly.

Steve moved forwards again, watching her with curiosity and no small amount of hope.

“Hi,” He replied, stopping in front of her.

“These are for you,” Darcy blurted, thrusting the bouquet at him.

He frowned down at the roses and then looked back at her uncertainly, “You bought me flowers?”

“I’m sorry,” She said, “Steve, I’m really, really sorry.”

She saw some flash of disappointment in his gaze before he dropped his eyes. He took the flowers from her gingerly and stepped around her to unlock the door to his apartment.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Steve told her, as he gestured her inside, “I’m the one who needs to apologise. You made it pretty clear where you stood, and I shouldn’t have crossed that line. I’m sorry.”

“No, Steve,” She shut the door behind her and followed him into the space that had been more a home to her since she’d arrived than the place she’d slept, “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, and I know that’s what I’ve done this week.”

“It’s okay,” Steve shrugged, but she could hear the hint of bitterness in his voice, “You made it clear how you feel. There’s no need to explain. I’m just glad you’re talking to me at all. I never wanted to lose your friendship.”

“No, I have to explain,” Darcy stepped closer, certain now that this was the right thing to do, anything that would clear that look from Steve’s face, “Because I haven’t made it clear how I feel. Kind of the opposite.”

He looked up at her then, and she saw his hope stirring.

“I have to leave.” Darcy told him quickly. “I was going to leave in a few months anyway, but I think I have to leave sooner. I think I need to leave now, for both our sakes.”

Steve dropped his eyes again, “Oh. Right.”

“I can’t be what you need, Steve,” Darcy told him stepping closer and trying to catch his eye again, “I sure as hell can’t be what you deserve. You need to let me go and move on. Find someone from your own time, your own world.”

“Don’t,” Steve looked up at her with disappointment and cool anger this time, “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend you’re doing this for me, don’t try to give me that whole ‘you’ll find someone’ spiel.”

“I –” Darcy hesitated, trying to find the words to make him understand, “Steve, I should have left weeks ago. When Pinstripes disappeared, I should have gone after him straight away. But I didn’t because I didn’t want to leave. Steve, I didn’t want to leave _you_.”

He opened his mouth to respond but she pressed ahead before he could speak.

“I _have_ to leave,” She told him, “I’ve always known that I would have to leave. And I stayed knowing that it was a bad idea because of you. But when you told me you love me… I knew it was too late. I have to leave, and this could only ever end in heartbreak. I thought it would be better to just make it a clean break, walk away so you could start to move on. But I can’t do that. I don’t want to.”

She stepped forward again and reached out for his hand.

“Steve Rogers,” She blinked back tears and gave him her warmest smile, “You are spectacular. You are the best of humanity. I have to go, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be back. But if I never see you again, then I want you to know that I love you. I _love_ you, Steve. I have loved you for so long and I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

Steve gripped her hand, searching her face for the truth in her words. His voice was shallow, lost, when he asked, “You really have to leave?”

Darcy nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks, her own voice breaking, “Yeah.”

“When?”

“I’m already packed,” She admitted.

“Jesus,” Steve released her hand to spin away from her, then turned back, tears in his eyes, “So that’s it? This is goodbye? Forever?”

“I’m the only one who can do this,” Darcy reminded him, “It’s the entire reason I’m here. I _have_ to leave. And you have to stay.”

She watched him process this, desperately wanting to say the next words, and desperately not wanting to hear his answer.

“But…” She bit her lip, “I don’t have to leave right now.”

He looked up at her sharply, “What does that mean?”

“I have to leave,” She repeated again, needing him to understand that it wasn’t a choice, “And you have to move on. But… if you wanted… if you don’t think it would make it worse, make it all harder… we could have one week. If – if you want.”

He stepped closer to her again, thoughtful now.

“One week?” He asked.

She nodded, “One week.”

“And we, what, just pretend?” Steve asked, “Pretend for a week that the world isn’t the way it is?”

“I – Yeah,” She shrugged, fighting to keep her nerves in check, to hide how much his answer mattered to her. “If that’s what you want.”

Steve stepped closer again, close enough to touch if either reached out.

“What do you want?” His voice was low, heavy, and Darcy felt a shiver run through her.

She gave a small helpless laugh, “I really want to kiss you.”

She was already focussed on his mouth when his lips turned up at one corner and he murmured, “Okay.”

Darcy didn’t hesitate. She lunged forwards, lips crashing onto his. A second later she pulled back again.

“That was ‘okay’ like _okay_ , right? Okay, I could kiss you?”

Steve laughed at her, his arms wrapping around her to pull her closer.

“Yes,” He said leaning back in, “Very much yes.”

“Thank god,” Darcy muttered against his lips, fingers moving up to slide into his hair.

Darcy lost track of time as he kissed her; lost track of everything except his lips moving against hers, his skin underneath her fingertips. She dragged at the back of his shirt, untucking it enough to slip her hands underneath.

“Wait, wait,” Steve broke away breathless.

“Okay,” Darcy breathed, forcing her hands to still.

“This, um, this week of pretending,” Steve let out an almost painful sigh, “What exactly are we talking about?”

“Whatever you want,” Darcy breathed, pulling back to meet his eyes, “Because, god, Steve, I want fucking _everything_.”

Steve’s eyes darkened with desire and he nodded quickly, “Everything sounds good.”

They moved at the same time, pressing forwards. Darcy’s hands edged higher under Steve’s shirt, feeling out the muscles and ribs beneath. She let him back her towards the sofa, pulling him down next to her when she felt the cushions behind her.

“Billie,” Steve moaned the name with an edge of worship.

Darcy pulled back quickly, “Don’t call me that.”

Steve blinked, surprised by the sudden shift, “Ah, okay… but that’s what I always call you.”

“That’s not my name.” Darcy felt nerves and doubt bubbling up in her, “This is so fucked up. You don’t even know my name.”

She pulled her hands away from him, twisting them together anxiously. Steve kept his grip on her, keeping her from moving away further.

“I know,” He reminded her, “But I don’t need to know your name to know _you_ , to know I love you.”

Darcy felt the warmth of his words and the honesty in his voice swoop through her, settling her nerves in an instant. She ducked forward to press her lips to his again, fiercely but briefly, then pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against his.

“I love you, too,” She whispered, “I love you more than I’ve loved anyone. This is so real to me and I don’t want a lie to be a part of it.”

She felt Steve’s nod more than she saw it.

“Okay,” His voice was coarse, strained, full of emotion, “What’s your name?”

Darcy felt tears spring to her eyes, her fingers curling into his hair, unwilling to let go.

“I can’t,” Her voice broke, “I want to. God, Steve, I want to hear you say my name. But I _can’t_.”

Steve’s breath shuddered over her cheek, and then he shifted to kiss her again, lips devouring the fear and disappointment, until all that she felt was heat and want and love.

“Okay,” He pulled back breathless, “Okay. I’ll call you whatever you want. What do you want me to call you? Do you want to go back to Reese?”

Darcy huffed out a surprised laugh, “Oh, God. That’s even more painfully obvious as a parallel now. I was tempting fate even using that name. Definitely not Reese.”

Steve darted forward to mouth along her jawline, murmuring between kisses, “Then what do you want me to call you? Doll?”

Darcy snorted, fumbling for the buttons of his shirt, “Not an inanimate object.”

“Darling? Sweetheart?” Steve asked as his hands edged up to her chest, “Princess?”

Darcy gasped as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

She felt Steve smile against her and press his lips back to the same spot, “You like that, princess?”

“Yes,” Darcy gasped, hands tracing up to count over his ribs, nails biting in as his hands found the buttons of her dress, baring her skin so his mouth could move lower.

Lower was an excellent idea.

“Don’t stop,” She demanded, hands fumbling with his belt buckle.

“Whatever you want, princess.” Steve promised.

-

Darcy pressed her face into the crook of Steve’s neck, breathing in his scent, feeling his fingers tracing patterns over her ribs. Peace settled over her like an old, well-loved blanket, one she hadn’t been wrapped up in for too long.

“Why ‘princess’?” Steve asked curiously.

“What?” Darcy flushed at the question, “I – um – Why, um, why would it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Steve answered easily. “I’m just curious.”

Darcy felt her face heating and tried to bury it deeper into Steve’s shoulder. He could probably feel her blush.

“It’s stupid,” She groaned into his skin.

“So?” She could hear the smile in his voice, He was clearly far too amused by her discomfort, “What’s wrong with stupid? You’ve got more than enough serious in your life.”

She lifted her face to look at him, catching his smile like a virus. She rested her chin on his chest, watching him watch her.

“I feel like I’m letting down the feminist team,” Darcy admitted.

Steve frowned at her in confusion, “You have a feminist team? And they judge people on their choice of pet names?”

“Okay, first,” Darcy rolled to the side so that she could stare at him from a more comfortable angle, “Lots of pet names are inherently insulting or creepy. And second, I told you it was stupid.”

Steve turned as well so they were face to face, “And I told you, _princess_ , I don’t care if it’s stupid.”

Darcy ducked her head away from the intensity of his gaze. A small sadness seeped into her peace, and she knew he could feel it.

He reached out to brush the hair from her face, and she grabbed for his hand, twisting their fingers together.

“When you call me that,” She clutched his hand, letting his presence be her anchor like it always was, “I feel like I don’t have to be the hero. Like I could let someone else do the rescuing. It reminds me of who I used to be, who I’m meant to be.”

She looked up to meet Steve’s ever understanding gaze. The light amusement from before had faded, but he gave her a sad, beautiful smile when she met his gaze.

“That’s not stupid, princess,” He told her, leaning forward to wrap his free arm around her. He pressed a delicate, sweet kiss to her lips and Darcy felt all of his love and understanding in the kiss.

After a moment he pulled back slowly.

“But you’re not going to convince me you weren’t always a hero,” He shook his head at her amiably, “You’re clearly a hero by you’re very nature.”

Darcy smiled, “Actually, I was pretty happy as the sidekick. It’s a much more comfortable role for the underachiever.”


	29. Goodbyes and Other Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, wrapping up this first part is making me incredibly anxious. It keeps creeping in at random points during my day. It's not super fun and now I just want to get it over with.

It was a perfect week.

They made sure it was. They took the challenge of _everything_ seriously; fitting as many different kinds of dates and adventures into the seven days as they could. They went out and they stayed in. They went on real double dates with Bucky and his current girl, where they all called it a date and Bucky called them both idiots.

Darcy casually moved her things out of Mrs Benthelwaite’s, no longer caring what the woman, or anyone else, thought about it.

She would spend every moment she had left with Steve if she could.

Sadly, he still had work, but they did what they could around that. Darcy made him call in sick one day, met him for lunch most days, and showed up in the middle of his shift one memorable afternoon to pull him none-too-subtly into the supply closet. They were there for a while.

The week was as perfect as they could possibly make it.

Which, in reality, was a long way from perfect.

Underneath every action, was a terrified desperation. Behind every laugh was a flood of tears just being held in. Hidden in every _I love you_ was the unspoken _goodbye_.

It was the most painfully wonderful week of Darcy’s entire existence.

She tried to memorise Steve’s body, carving the curve of his smile into her soul where it could never be taken from her. Letting his words echo repeatedly through her heart until they could never be removed. No matter what happened next.

Because she could guess what _next_ might look like, and she knew she might need these memories to get through it.

The last evening rolled around too soon.

She and Steve spent the evening at home, filling the time with simple domesticity, doing everything together. They were each trying to pretend that they were okay, that they were happy, not wanting to ruin their last night together.

They tried not to go to sleep, neither wanting to miss the final hours together.

But around 3am they both lost the fight to keep their eyes open. Steve slipped into sleep first, and Darcy watched him for a little while, listening to his breathing. She couldn’t bring herself to wake him, despite their agreement to stay awake together.

Instead, she curled into his side, letting his warmth and peace surround her, saturate her.

Her last thought before she drifted off was that she might never have this again, but at least it had been almost perfect while it lasted.

\--

Steve and Bucky both accompanied her to the train station in the morning.

It felt like the hardest walk she’d ever taken, though she knew there were probably a few contenders for the title in her past. Probably a lot more coming in her future.

She chose not to think about that. This was the only one that mattered today. The perils of the past and the future could wait.

Her composure slipped a few times along the way, and she hoped the boys didn’t notice her dabbing at her eyes. If they did, at least they were kind enough not to comment. And if she noticed their composure slipping here and there, she pretended not to as well.

This was the only option, she reminded herself. It hurt, but it had to be done. That was nothing new, just the normal state of her world these days.

Darcy’s life sucked right now, that was a given. But it had been nice to pretend, however briefly, that it didn’t; even if she’d never fully convinced herself.

At the station, Steve and Bucky waited while she purchased her ticket, then walked with her to the platform. They stood silent for a moment, none of them able to find words that could make this moment easier or properly describe how fucking hard it was.

“So, this is it?” Steve’s voice was thick with emotion, but he was holding himself together.

Darcy nodded slowly, swallowing back the tears in her own throat.

“Do you really think you won’t ever come back?” Steve asked, hopelessness edging through.

“I don’t know,” She admitted in a whisper, then gave a wry smile, “Ironically, the future is kind of a mystery to me.”

“So… there’s a chance then?” The wistfulness in his voice made her heart ache.

“No,” She shook her head, tears welling openly now, “Don’t do that. Don’t wait or hope for me. It’s okay if it takes time, if it hurts to even imagine right now, but you have to promise me that you’ll move on, eventually. Please.”

Steve closed his eyes, failing miserably at hiding the pain he felt. But after a moment, he nodded.

“Okay, I promise,” He raised a sharp-eyed gaze to glare at her with determination, “But you have to promise too; no matter what comes next, no matter what you have to do or where you end up, remember that you’ll always have a place here. Remember that –” he faltered but pressed on, “That I love you. You are loved, and you’re worth more than you let yourself believe.”

Darcy took a shuddering breath, feeling the sobs starting to edge up her throat. She lunged forward to seize him in a hug, tucking her face into his collarbone, unable to look him in the eye any longer. Instead, she inhaled the scent of his skin, sunk into the feel of his arms around her, etched the memory of his warmth, his weight, his simple presence which had been a soothing balm to her since the moment she’d arrived.

And he loved her. He knew her so completely despite knowing so little about her, and he loved her anyway. The knowledge was a wellspring of strength inside her, and she would do whatever she could to hold onto it.

“I promise,” She whispered, the easiest promise she’d ever made.

The call for her train to board broke through the moment and Darcy drew back. She wiped at her eyes with her wrist, squeezing Steve’s hand once more before turning to Bucky who was standing awkwardly off to the side, clearly not wanting to intrude in their moment.

She stepped over to hug him too, refusing to let herself think about the arms wrapping around her, and whether she’d ever see him whole again.

“Thank you for everything,” Her voice came out watery, “For… fuck, just _everything_. Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice was tight, “I – Shit, I don’t know what I’m meant to say now.”

Darcy pulled back with a laugh, stepping back to stand on her own.

“That’s exactly what you should say,” She assured him, picking up her suitcase.

She took one last moment to shoot a glance between Bucky and Steve. Steeling her resolve, she nodded.

“You’ll look after each other,” She ordered, no doubt in her, “Take care of each other until… forever.”

Knowing she had to move now, or risk never leaving at all, Darcy didn’t wait for a response. She strode forward, marching onto the train like it was the only place she wanted to be.

She didn’t look back as she climbed on board. She didn’t glance out as she made her way down the train to her compartment. She didn’t turn her head as she stowed her bags and settled into her seat.

She kept her eyes closed until she heard the doors seal and the engine puff up into action, until she knew she couldn’t get out if she wanted to.

When she turned to look outside they were standing there watching her, waiting on her like they had so often before.

As the train began to move, she raised her hand to the window. Her eyes blurred with tears and she barely made out the motion of Steve returning her wave before they disappeared out of sight.

She curled in on herself and let the sobs and tears wash the world away.

Darcy let the tears carry her out of the station, and out of the city. By the time her breathing had eased and her eyes had dried, the train was chugging through the countryside.

So that was it. That chapter was over. The part of her life living in Brooklyn, protecting Captain America and watching out for the Winter Soldier, laughing with Bucky Barnes and falling in love with Steve Rogers was done. Even if she did come back to this place, there could be no going back to what they’d had.

It hadn’t all been good. In fact, a whole lot of it had been excruciating and terrifying. It was almost strange to think she could miss this time considering how terrible much of it had been.

But there had been such wonder here too. And it was sad to say goodbye to that, even if it also meant saying goodbye to daily assassination attempts and lying to people she loved and living with the terror that was Sylvia Benthelwaite.

She’d never felt as terrified and out of her depth as she’d been in the months she’d spent here.

She’d never felt as loved and needed.

Despite everything; despite Jane waiting for her in the future, and Carrington out there plotting, and millions of lives hanging in the balance; despite the beatings, the near-death experiences, the pain, and the fear; she wished she could hold onto this time. She wished she could stay.

But that wasn’t possible. Darcy had to leave, for the same reason she’d done everything else since the day Jane had admitted she couldn’t prevent Hydra from going back in time.

It was the only option.

No, that wasn’t true.

Darcy had a choice. She’d had a choice when she plotted under the table, when she didn’t put that stupid pencil back in the book, when she’d nodded and told Jane to hit the button and get it over with.

Darcy had made a choice when she landed here. She’d chosen to keep chasing Carrington every time he escaped her, and to stay when she knew she’d end up falling in love with Steve.

She’d had a choice and made a choice every single day, every moment, since she’d arrived.

Because as terrible as leaving was, as hard as fighting would be, the other options were all worse.

So, Darcy would choose, once again, to keep going.

She took a steadying breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. Decided, she pulled out the notebook she’d stolen from Pinstripes so long ago now and flipped to the page of dates and locations he was likely to target.

These things would have to be approached from a different angle. She wouldn’t be able to stop them being changed just by shoving a scrawny guy out of the way or making up a few lies on the spot. Some of the events on this list would need substantial actions to keep them intact, and she wouldn’t be able to do that alone.

She needed help. She needed someone who had authority, who had an in with the parties at threat. Someone who could change what the records said so that people looking back from the future wouldn’t know what really happened.

Above all, she needed someone who could be trusted with a secret that could destroy the world.

Darcy stared at the first name on the page. It was fortuitous, really, that this was the first attack Darcy had to stop. There was no one else Darcy could think of who might meet her criteria.

The date was just over three months away.

She had three months to figure out how to stop Pinstripes attack when she didn’t know what form that attack might take.

And three months to figure out how to convince Peggy Carter she was from the future.

After what she’d been through so far, how much harder could that be?


	30. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me through this. I've had some ups and downs while writing this story, and a whole lot of self doubt at times. This is not the end, but it's a major milestone. I'm honestly just super proud to have finished it at all, but the amazing response from all of you has blown me away.
> 
> This may mark the end of this part, but it is not the end of the story. Rest assured, there is a lot more to come.

“So, I called in a bomb threat so that the plane would be diverted to another airport,” Darcy explained, “But then when they actually found a bomb they decided I must have been involved in planting it, so they arrested me. A bit inconvenient, but not really a surprising leap of logic.”

“At which point you insisted on speaking to me.” Agent Carter filled in the remainder of the story.

“Yep,” Darcy replied, trying to mask her nerves.

She’d thought, after spending months with Captain America and the Winter Soldier that she wouldn’t be awestruck by any more historical celebrities. But then, she had always thought Agent Peggy Carter was more amazing and badass than all the Howling Commandos combined. She was sitting in front of a _legend._

No big deal.

A legend who currently held Darcy’s fate, and therefore the fate of the world, in her hands.

No reason to freak out.

And Darcy had no idea what Agent Carter was thinking.

She’d told her everything. Well, no, not even close to everything. There were still all sorts of things that she could never tell anyone, and things that she would only be able to talk about after they happened. But she’d explained how she’d come to be in the past, and what she needed to do before returning home, and why she needed Agent Carter’s help to do it.

Through the entire story, Carter’s expression had remained completely unreadable to Darcy.

She couldn’t tell if she was about to be handed back to the police, invited out for tea, or dragged away to be torture by shady government agencies. And she didn’t really have a backup plan if she couldn’t talk Agent Carter around.

On the plus side, she’d gone way past the one minute time limit without being stopped.

“The things you’ve spoken of,” Agent Carter spoke slowly when she finally broke her silence, “They wouldn’t be simple things to change or to protect from changes.”

Darcy snorted, too tense with waiting for Agent Carter’s verdict to hold back now, “Don’t I know it.”

Agent Carter gave her a long, appraising look.

“Well,” She shuffled Darcy’s file back into it’s folder, “We’ll need to start with training. Basic espionage, self-defence, language and accents. How to blend in and when to stand out. Intel gathering. If you’re going to have any chance of surviving this, you’ll need a crash course in all of it.”

Darcy felt a grin spread slowly over her face, “So you’ll help me?”

“I’ll do what I can,” Agent Carter replied reasonably, “But some of the things you’ve alluded to are not within my power to alter. We may need more assistance on this.”

“Well, I’d need to have final say over who gets told what,” Darcy negotiated, “But I can think of one or two people who could be useful.”

“I’m sure you can.” Agent Carter stood and, finally, gave Darcy a small smile, “I think we can work out those details in more comfortable environs.”

Darcy shoved quickly to her feet, ready to follow wherever her new ally led.

“Agent Carter,” She reached out before the other woman could open the door, laying her hand on Agent Carter’s arm and meeting her gaze with a serious, earnest expression, “Thank you.”

Agent Carter smiled again and laid her own hand over Darcy’s, “Given the circumstances, I think you can call me Peggy. Since I suspect the name you gave the police is not your own, what should I call you?”

“I can’t tell you my real name,” Darcy told her apologetically, considering. With a shrug, she decided she may as well lean into the obviousness at this point. If nothing else, it was a tiny reminder, one that only she would understand, of why she’d started this journey and what she’d found in Brooklyn.

“You can call me Reese.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!!! (sort of)
> 
> I want to thank you again for the comments and kudos and the patience you've had with me through this whole experience. I'm going to take a short (1-2 week) break while I tidy some things up then we'll start straight into part 2. A lot of it is already written, though it still needs a fair bit of work. I'm (optimistically) thinking that I can continue the twice a week posting pattern that I got into half way through this one. But with a few gaps still to fill in the next one, I can't promise that quite yet.
> 
> See you all back here soon for the rest of the story!


End file.
